Apologize
by Teardrops 13
Summary: After a traumatic summer, Harry returns to Hogwarts early with problems he can't fix on his own. What happens when he finds comfort in the most unlikely person? M for later chapters. HIATUS
1. Too Late

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its series. That belongs to J.K.**

**A/N: This fic is based on a song I am in love with. The song that inspired me to write this fic is Apologize by OneRepublic.**

**A/N: Because writing in first person is so much easier for me, that is exactly what I am going to write in. The story is in present tense, and it is in Snape's point of view. Partially because I've never written as Snape before. :) And because Harry is so much more mysterious than Snape. :)**

**A/N: This fic takes place post OotP but Pre HPB and DH.**

Too Late

OoO

I wake up on this Tuesday to a sound much like that of a bird chirping. It cannot be a bird because I am in the dungeons at Hogwarts. Yet the sound is so much like a bird's chirping it is uncanny. It is starting to bother me, so I get out of bed and drag myself to the source of my uncalled for alarm clock.

What I find is not what I expected to find. A letter is sitting conveniently right inside my door. It is odd seeing as the Headmaster and I are the only ones with keys to my personal quarters. Frankly, the old coot wouldn't have keys to anything I own except that it is mandatory we give him a copy.

I pick up the letter with caution. You never know who might be trying to kill you and with what these days. The chirping stops instantly. Thank whatever deity caused the cease of noise. I open the letter carefully, noting the front is blank. I pull out the single sheet of parchment with annoyance. Who in their right mind sends me a blank letter with chirping bird sounds at six o'clock in the bloody morning? The parchment says nothing, as I suspected. However, I notice a small bottle in the bottom of the envelope that was not there a second ago. I pull out the bottle and inspect it. Upon reading the label I am completely infuriated. Degreaser?! Who would send me a bottle of hair degreaser?!

A sudden burst of laughter fills the halls. I recognize that ear-splitting shriek-like laughter. Minerva. And, if I am not mistaken (which I am sure I am not), Peeves. Curse the two of them. I shall not reply to their immaturity.

I carefully shower, making sure I get my hair wet as little as possible. After my shower, I throw on my clothes and head out of my quarters and into the hallway. It is cold down in the dungeons. Too cold. Usually it is much warmer. That is strange indeed. I shall take it up with the Headmaster. Even though the old coot is just going to tell me I am imagining things. He always belittles me, as if he were worth the effort.

The trip upstairs into the Main Hall seems much longer than usual. That is the fault of the two insolents. Well, them and the fact that I am an insomniac. However, usually Essence of Sleep helps. I am going to need several cups of coffee to keep me awake through today's plans.

Potter is coming to school early. He was kicked out by his relatives or something else completely melodramatic. Now I have to deal with him a month and a half early. I am going to need more than several cups of coffee to keep from cursing that brat. He is completely impossible to deal with. He'll probably be complaining the entire time he is here, just as all brats do.

I step into the Great Hall and take my place at the Staff Table even though it is optional during the summer months. I wait until two pitchers of steaming black coffee take their place on the table. Then I wait for the tea cups. Once they appear, I pour myself a cup of coffee and take a long swig of the stuff. The warmth penetrates the isolated coldness that I have established within my body. The cold numbness dissolves, leaving only warmth in its place. Warmth. I do not wish to be warm. Being warm causes one to be vulnerable. Being vulnerable could cause my death. I certainly do not wish to die quite yet. I am not afraid of dying; I simply am not morbid enough to wish it upon myself.

After finishing about seven and a half cups of coffee, I decide to meet Dumbledore in his office and brief him on the overall safety of the school.

I make my way toward his office and I am soon standing in front of his door. I almost knock, but I hear voices arguing heatedly. One is the Headmaster's I am sure (which surprises me by itself), but I cannot determine who the second voice is until Dumbledore says his name.

"Harry, you must stay here. Voldemort will not find you here, and you are much safer. He already murdered Petunia, the poor woman," Dumbledore tries to reason with the boy. I do not see why. He is but a mere child. And an obstinate child at that.

"But Professor," Potter protests, his dislike at the situation well-hidden. "I can't stay here. I can only stay if you wish him to come to the school. If you wish to die, then keep me. If not, I shall make my leave in the morning."

"Harry my dear boy," Dumbledore starts, sounding exhausted.

"I am not your 'dear boy', _sir_I am not your little puppet. You will not use me to win the war-I shall do that without your help. I do not need, nor do I want to continue this futile request for your approval. If I survive the next six weeks, I will see you on the first. If not, then I will not see you on the first," Harry says in a soft voice that leaves no room for protest.

I choose that moment to walk in. I frankly do not care if the brat lives or dies, unless I am the one preserving or killing him. I only walk in at that time because I do not need the Headmaster to take his anger out on me.

"Excuse me, _Professor_," Potter mumbles to me. I do not move. Actually, until he asked me to move, I did not know I was even blocking the brat's escape route. However, I have no intention of moving, thus I stand my ground.

"Am I interrupting something?" I ask, mock interest in my voice. I know I am; I simply wish to fool the old coot into believing I honestly have no idea what is going on.

"Our young Mr. Potter seems to want to leave the safety and protection of the school and go off on his own to battle Voldemort (I suppress a shudder) on his own with only a fifth year's knowledge," Dumbledore says to me, probably trying to get me to side with him.

"Why on Earth would he want to do that when everyone here loves him so darn much?" I ask, trying to cover my sarcasm with mock concern.

Only then do I look at Potter. He has grown at least two inches, still making me about a foot taller than he is. However, his skin has completely faded. In this crappy lighting, he looks dead. His skin looks grey, his eyes dull and emotionless, his bones jutting out in ways they should not be jutting out, and his hair is a complete mess. Then again, his hair is always a complete mess. Except now it covers half of his face. That is strange. However, his expression has completely changed. Instead of life emitting from those emerald eyes, a mask covers any and all emotion the boy may be feeling.

"His home situation has been compromised, to say the least. He seems to believe he can do much better without our protection. I think he is clinically depressed," Dumbledore says, resigning.

"I doubt the boy is depressed, sir. It seems to me he is just being self-righteous. That battle at the Ministry blew up his head. It filled his brain with thoughts of glory and victory," I say, unconcerned.

Of course the boy is depressed. He saw his Aunt murdered by the most evil man (or shred of a man) in the world, he's been around death, violence, and every other terrible thing in this world his entire life. A child should never have to experience such wretched things. He did, though. Depression follows those who are unfit to handle the crappy and unfair situation they have been placed in.

"If you two are finished talking about me as if I am not here when I am clearly standing right in front of you, I would like to leave," Potter tells us tonelessly.

I fight the urge to smile at that. He sounds like me. Always hiding behind a mask. Never showing how he is truly feeling. It is a rather strange thing to see in a mere child however. And it is quite unnerving at that.

"Potter should not be going anywhere until his health has reached its optimum. Physically _and_ mentally," I say to the Headmaster, pretending I did not even hear Potter's question.

"That is true, Severus," Dumbledore says to me, considering the truth I have shoved in his blind face. "Harry, will you please see Madame Pomfrey before you depart and make sure you are in good health?" Dumbledore asks the brat nicely. I do not see the reasoning behind his niceness, but I do not really care.

"Yes, _sir_," Potter mumbles to Dumbledore. He turns to me and that blank mask falls into place as he threatens me. "You've just doomed this place to Hell, you moronic bastard."

I know he speaks the truth. The Dark Lord himself is not after Potter in the battle that is to come. He is too weak for battle so early after the Ministry incident. However, his minions (including Bellatrix, who I would not want to cross even on a good day when she wasn't completely pissed off at Potter for weakening her Master) are in top form, and are ready for revenge on Harry. They are bloodthirsty and will kill anyone who stands in their way at killing Potter (as brutally as possible mind you). Half of the Death Eaters have killed their own families (including Bellatrix, who killed her brother at the Ministry battle) or have no problem in doing so. They will go wherever Potter is. In a way, I suppose it is my fault if anyone gets killed in the battle that is to come.

Oh well. It's too late to change things now.

OoOoO

Three weeks later, I awake to screaming. I get out of bed to fast and have to steady myself before going forward. Maybe that party with Flitwick and Hagrid last night was not that great of an idea. Somebody else was there. Who was that? I must have had too much Vodka.

The screaming continues, so I get out of bed and drag myself to the door. Upon opening it, I remember I am in only my underwear and curse my hangover. I glance around the hall, looking for students to yell at and give detention to. Then the memory that it is summer, thus meaning there are no students on campus to yell at. Except Potter. But even he would not be stupid enough to wake me. Sighing, I turn back to my sanctuary. I throw my clothes on, grab my wand, and leave. I prowl the hallway long enough to realize the screaming is coming from the Great Hall. I quickly make my way up the stairs and am stunned silent by the appalling sight in front of me.

Death Eaters are fighting each other. That makes no sense. I look around the should-be empty hall and my eyes land on Potter. Of course he is the source of my waking up early. And he does it the one night I actually am asleep. (I should drink Vodka more often). He looks like he slept little more than a minute with the circles darker than night under his eyes.

"Potter," I call to him, gliding toward him. I avoid the Death Eater simulations (Which is seventh year magic, thus he should not know how to perform it), lest a curse should miss and hit me. "What are you doing awake so early?" I ask him in a toneless voice. I cannot be mad at the brat for having insomnia. However, I refuse to be nice to him either.

"I am studying," is his simple, also toneless answer. His face reveals nothing, which in itself shocks me. He should not be able to hide his emotions so well. Then again, he should not be able to conjure up simulation fighting Death Eaters either, but that didn't seem to stop him from doing so.

"Studying?" I am genuinely confused; however I ask the question evenly. What could a child learn by simply watching two simulated Death Eaters try to kill each other? I am truly afraid to know the answer. I asked the question though, and I do expect some sort of answer.

"Yes, studying," he repeats, still no emotion in his voice. I am shocked at his pitiful answer. Usually Potter spits some garbage about doing what Dumbledore told him to in my face when I inquire about the useless things he does. However, I am determined to know what is going on in this boy's head, no matter how disturbing.

"What, Potter, are you studying?" I ask him, trying to be nice to the brat that made my life Hell for the past five years. I do not know why I care so much about what he is doing. I simply do. The person standing in front of me is not the Harry Potter I know. The Harry Potter I know is exactly like the James Potter I used to know. He is not morbid enough to stand by and watch with genuine interest as two simulated Death Eaters slaughter each other. Which is why his response to my question appalled me even farther.

"I am studying battle, Snape," he says to me, keeping his voice even. "I am studying wizard interaction during a conflict. Believe it or not, this full-fledged killing started over a pencil. I chose Death Eaters because they are the vilest creatures ever put on this Earth." He never once lost the evenness in his voice. He never once looked up at me. His detachment amazed even me.

"How do you know how to perform seventh year magic?" I demand, getting tired of this charade. I am not about to be pushed around by some useless fifth year Gryffindor brat. I am the adult, and I deserve respect. I demand it. Potter is no exception. Even though he is slowly turning into me, he is no exception.

"Because Snape," he hisses, turning to face me, "I am not the fucking moron you believe me to be. I am not the fucking self-righteous Gryffindor you believe me to be. And I am not the fucking pussy Dumbledore is and wants me to be. I am not going to sit back and watch while Voldemort (I am too shocked at the brat's excessive use of profanities to shudder) fucking kills everything I know and possibly care about. There is no way I am going to do whatever the fuck you and your Holier-Than-Now Dumbledore want me to do. I am _**not**_ a fucking puppet."

His bluntness leaves me so utterly speechless that I cannot even voice an insult, yet alone a punishment. He uses this time to continue ranting. He uses way too many profanities for such a small boy. He probably got it from Weasley or Granger.

"What Snape?" he snarls at me, his emerald eyes ablaze. "You expect me to be the Boy Who Fucking Lived my whole life? I stopped being a child the moment I had to witness my Aunt get slaughtered in front of me after having to watch her get raped by three of your Master's fucking pets. I stopped giving a fuck after my Uncle beat me for days with an iron because your fucking Master killed his wife. I stopped listening to everyone else's fucking problems shortly after I was forced to witness my cousin murder his own Goddamn father with a fucking rock. Dumbledore and his self-righteous self can shove this Golden Boy shit where the sun doesn't shine." I would have laughed at that last sentence, had I not been completely consumed with shock at Potter's sudden outburst of utter profanity.

"And you are exactly like him," he tells me softly. However, it is not anger I detect in his voice. There is disappointment. It is strange. Potter gets a backbone and is disappointed that I despise him. Very strange indeed. I am not exactly offended at the statement; I just do not wish to be compared to a baboon's arse.

Later that night, after contemplating Potter's confessions to me (Though very vulgar), I decide to keep the Headmaster in the dark about that particular conversation. I will however, speak to Potter on my own time.

I take a vile of Essence of Sleep and have a decent night's sleep.

In the morning, I awake to a soft knocking on my door. It is strange only because most people care so little about me that they simply pound on the door. Apparently, I fell asleep in my clothes from the day before, so dressing is simple enough. I do, however, use the bathroom before I answer the door.

The person standing in front of me is definitely not who I expect to see. Potter is my early morning visitor. Joy. I let him in only because I am too tired for standing. And the look on his face does not suggest he will be leaving anytime soon.

"Yes Potter?" I ask, taking a seat on my bed. He remains standing, strangely enough. He looks as if he has something dreadfully important on that mind of his. He still amazes me. He greatly insults me the previous night, then has the nerve to wake me at this hour. Wait, what hour is it? I glance at my clock and realize just how early it is. Three fifty-three AM. The brat truly has a death wish.

"Professor, about yesterday morning," the boy begins, taking a breath too deep for his anorexic frame. (I'm not saying he's anorexic-just that he looks, acts, and sounds anorexic). "I am sorry." He says that statement evenly, probably so I won't know what exactly is going through his head. "I was wrong," He adds.

"And why could this apology not wait until seven-thirty, when I am supposed to wake up?" I ask him, expecting a similarly smart (But much less vulgar) remark like those he distributed yesterday morning. His blank mask slides into place, probably so I do not see how truly worried our, how did he put it? Oh yes, our Boy Who Fucking Lived is.

"They are attacking at five," is his simple response. They? Who are They? Death Eaters? The Dark Lord? Something even worse? Why is he informing me? Why isn't he informing Dumbledore or Minerva? Why me? Why does every bad thing get informed to me first?

As if reading my mind (which I do not doubt completely), the brat answers me. "There are going to be thirty-seven Death Eaters arriving by air, twenty-four by land, and seventeen by water."

Thirty-seven, twenty-four, and seventeen. Seventy-eight Death Eaters versus twenty-three staff members. Add Potter in, and there are twenty-four. We are…

"Screwed," Potter finishes my thought verbally. I swear that boy can read minds.

"No," I tell him forcefully. "We aren't screwed. We are royally fucked."


	2. Battle Lines

**A/N: Thank-you to my lovely reviewers (Though there aren't that many-only two the last time I checked!) I really appreciate the kind words. :D**

**A/N: This chapter contains some gory battle scenes-READER BE WARNED. Thanks! **

Battle Lines

OoO

It is now four fifty-seven AM. Potter and I awoke the entire staff and informed them of the news. They were not any more optimistic than he and I were, but still, we either won or died trying. (At least, that was our "pep" talk from Dumbledore; I wasn't any peppier after it, for I would rather this school burn to the ground than die protecting the school and it _still_ burn to the ground). I have a feeling most of the staff agreed with me, for we all wore grim faces as we stood guard outside the school. Dumbledore has half of us standing on the roof in this bitter wind and half of the other half guarding the entrance. The last six were guarding the Lake (It being the only body of water within one thousand feet of the school), which was quite funny really.

Our Headmaster said he was going to get extra reinforcement, but somehow I highly doubt that. I should doubt the Headmaster more often. Our "reinforcements" are the kitchen elves. There may be an alarming number of the little rats, but they have only basic magical powers and cannot possibly harm a fully trained Death Eater. Dobby led the group of twenty or so that assisted us on the roof. I'll give him credit, the rat has bravery. However, bravery is not exactly commendable in this situation. In this particular situation, it is foolish to be brave. Thirty elves help guard the Lake, lead by a female rat named Winky. The other forty elves helped guard the entrance to the castle. We may greatly outnumber the Death Eaters (78-114), but have only twenty-four wizards and witches on our side. I still think we are royally fucked.

Three minutes later on the dot, brooms are flying toward us on the roof. Rising out of the lake are more bodies, and storming the barrier are yet more. Because of their masks, I cannot identify who the individual Death Eaters are until they land. The one that comes up to me first happens to be Lucius Malfoy. He was the most conspicuous of all, what with that white blond hair poking out of his hood. Arrogant prick.

He pulls his wand out and throws a nonverbal at me. I laugh as it ricochets off of my personal barrier (I had set it up as soon as Potter informed me of the coming attack) and lands directly on some rugged looking Death Eater with no hair. The Death Eater curled in pain and was soon killed by Minerva's Avada. (I didn't know "Light" witches used the killing curse). Lucius looks absolutely livid at that. I smirk from behind my barrier, but I know Lucius is determined. So I kill him first. I throw a stunning spell that catches him off guard. Then I laugh and kill him with Avada. Serves the arrogant prick right.

My head spins as I hear an angry shriek from behind me. Bellatrix.

"You good-for-nothing traitor!" She's screaming at me, her face as red as blood. Her hair is completely wild (She probably hasn't brushed it since she was born. I've noticed that heterosexuals are like that. Slobs), and she is seething. She approaches me. I approach her. However, I lose my concentration, and my barrier is gone. Crap.

"CRUCIO!" she shrieks, wand pointed directly at me. I duck just in time, and the spell hits a side of the school, which immediately crumbles.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" I yell, sending the green light flying. It misses her and hits an unlucky Death Eater in the back, sending him tumbling to the ground. Standing in front of the lifeless body is Potter. He looks angry. As if he were betrayed. It is an extremely frightening sight. I do not even remember the fact that I am in a dual with the evilest woman in the world until I hear her throw the Cruciatus at me yet again.

Again I duck, and the spell hits another side of the building. As I try to move, I slip on the fallen rock and land on the broken school with a thud. Instantly, my left side is splintered with rock bits. I am probably bleeding like an anemic, but I need to get up. I cannot. The bitch hit me with a Sticking charm as soon as I fell. As she approaches, my heart speeds up. I'm dead. I know it. She knows it. She glowers down at me, looking smug and confident. She aims her wand.

"_Cruci__-__**oomph**_," Her wand falls out of her lifeless hand as her head rolls off her shoulders. Blood squirts everywhere, including on my robes. Her hand lands in my lap, which makes me turn to the side and retch. After I am finished throwing up last night's Caesar salad, I look up at my rescuer. It just has to be him. The fucking brat saved my life.

"You'd better watch yourself, Snape," he tells me, almost tonelessly. But I detect another emotion in his voice. Concern? It cannot be concern. However, I do not have long to think about it before he is gone, fighting more Death Eaters. I slowly get up, letting Bellatrix's head roll over the side of the building and onto the ground below. To Hell with the bitch.

As the fighting continues, I notice there is only one Death Eater alive on the roof. And the little rats had something to do with that. Too bad that Death Eater is the second most destructive man this world has ever seen. As soon as Draco faces me, I know I have a battle ahead.

The boy smirks at me. How could I once have taught this marvelous boy? He is now only a shred of his former self. It is an extremely disturbing sight. I cannot believe my eyes.

"So Snape," he says, ever so casually. It makes a chill run up my spine. "Dual me. To the death."

It is more of a command than a threat. I am about to accept when Potter steps up beside me.

"Malfoy," he says to his former schoolmate. Potter's tone is fierce; it sounds almost like Lily used to. He obviously has a grudge with Malfoy. A more serious one than any of the Staff ever realized. "You fucking wimp. It's not Severus you have a grudge against. It's me. Either deal with it now, or run away with your tail between your legs like the pussy we all know you are."

Did Potter just use my first name? Shocking. It's probably just the heat of the moment. Or maybe…

"Shut the fuck up Potter!" Malfoy screams. His face has turned scarlet, and he has his wand pointed at Potter now. Thank whatever deity is watching out for me. "You are a fucking bastard with no fucking home to go to! You think you stand a chance against me?" Draco's voice was menacing.

"You aren't half the Death Eater you're shitty father was, and he was taken down in one hit! You are a worthless piece of street shit with no mother or father! All you fucking have is an empty thirty story manor to go home to! You haven't been through half the shit I have, and you think by telling me what I already fucking know and was there to fucking witness is going to let you win this battle? You've been fucking yourself too long if you think you are better than me in the Goddamn least!" Potter's vulgarity is nothing compared to what he throws at Draco.

A ball of pure fire shoots out of his wand, then another, then another. In a rapid succession, fireball after fireball are hitting Draco. His clothes are melting off of him. His screams of shear pain are enough to stop my heart dead in its place. I cannot react however. It is like my body is frozen and time is all standing still except for Draco.

"Now you know what the fuck it feels like you fucking bastard," I can barely hear Potter, and he is standing right next to me. He obviously knows Draco cannot hear him, yet it is as if he is talking to the burning child. _Child_. The word burns a hole into my mind until I finally react.

"_Aguanunta_!" I shout, pointing my wand at Draco's burning body. Water erupts from its tip, smothering the boy and putting the fire out. However, the sight of his body is worse than having Bellatrix's head land right in my lap. This child is bleeding from everywhere. His body looks like all skin has been stripped clean. All I can see is muscle and blood. It is sickening. I glance over at Potter, wondering how he could do this. The look on his face as he stares at the disgusting remains of Draco Malfoy is that of pure hatred. How can he look at the poor boy he just brutally murdered with magic darker than the murder victim and look only hateful? It is not possible, and yet, it is the only thing readable on his face.

'You can rot in Hell with your father you fucking bastard," he whispers to the lifeless body before turning away. I do not attempt to understand the emotionally disturbed, but this is beyond disturbing. What could Draco have done to deserve such a horrible way of dying? That fireball curse was worthy of the Dark Lord himself. So how did Potter use it so perfectly?

I turn my attention away from the decaying corpse of my once favorite student to readdress the battle. However, when I look down to see who could use my help, I see the battle is over. All the Death Eaters are dead, their broken and crumpled bodies scattered throughout the grounds. And, as I look around, not one of our men have died. Nor have any women or elves.

I sigh and set off to find Potter. The little sociopath has to be around here somewhere. While walking the perimeter of the roof, I see just how many Elites were on the Air Strike. Lestrange, Malfoys, Karkaroff (Though I could have sworn he left the Dark Lord), Crabbe, Goyle, and many I could not even identify. Men that used to be my colleagues are scattered in every direction, some mangled, some simply cursed with Avada.

I finally find Potter sitting on a broken chunk of the building. Seeing the broken rock, I remember my left side and wince in pain. I sit on a rock across from him and look the boy in the eye.

"What do you want, _Professor_?" he asks, bitterness that belongs to someone much older filling his voice. His eyes are no longer dull and lifeless; more like those fireballs he burned Draco alive with. He looks like he would like to kill me, which I do not doubt.

"I want to know why you killed Draco in the manner you did," I tell him honestly, figuring it would be the smarter choice at the moment.

"The stupid bastard deserved what he got," Potter says softly, almost hinting at some sort of remorse. "After everything he fucking put me through, the moronic bastard deserves to rot in Hell for all eternity with his whore of a mother and murderer of a father."

The harshness in his voice caught me completely off guard, and I could not even muster a response. Finally, my voice slightly returned, and I asked him, "What do you mean?"

He lets out a bitter laugh and stares at me so hard, I expected to see holes in my eyes the next time I looked in a mirror. "The little bastard fucked me while I was drunk. Then proceeded to fuck my Aunt after his fucking father had his turn with her. Once Draco was done, his slut of a mother raped her herself. I was so out of it, I didn't even fucking realize what was happening until they started slicing her up. They used a knife off of the kitchen counter. First off was her nose. Then her eyes. Then her scalp. Soon, her entire body had been sliced and diced. Right in front of my cousin, my Uncle and me. The bastards threw the shreds out to the birds in the yard. Needn't say my Aunt was devoured within minutes."

Potter really did have a dramatic summer. His Aunt was chopped into little pieces after being raped by three members of the Dark Lord's followers. No doubt his Uncle was pissed off.

"Dudley and Vernon were more out of it than I was, and all they remember is that I watched the fucking Malfoys kill Petunia." The brat has to read minds. "An entire week after that, I was abused by Vernon with a hot iron ever day of my fucking life. It only ended when Voldemort decided to possess Dudley. He ripped Vernon apart with his own fucking teeth. It was disgusting. I left as soon as I walked in on the process. But Dudley followed me. He was still possessed and wanted me dead. So I killed him first." His explanation was one I could have lived without hearing. But he isn't finished yet. "Funny," he says, giving a bitter laugh, "How I've always been an orphan, and it doesn't bother me until I have absolutely no family left. My mom, my dad, Sirius, Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley. All dead because I live. If living is going to kill everyone around me, then why continue murdering people?"

I am not sure if the question is rhetorical at first, but the look on his face is begging me for an answer. However, I am not sure how to answer. If I tell him to kill himself, I'll be put into Azkaban. However, if I tell him to keep living, he is just going to drive himself straight into more depression. "Potter," I say finally. "I don't know." My voice is so small and soft, I am not sure it is mine except for the fact that I just spoke.

"I thought you'd say that," he tells me quietly, sadness filling his voice. His expression changed to the mask, and a sudden urge made me ask the question that had been on my mind since he said it during his battle with Draco.

"Why did you call me Severus?" I ask him. I expect some sort of reaction to my abrupt change of subject, but his body remains still and his voice even.

"It is your name. I like it better than calling you Snape," is his simple answer to my not-so-simple question. It is truly appalling that this once completely arrogant boy has grown into a man in just one summer. I myself cannot believe it, and I have seen my fair share of strange occurrences.

"Thank you, Potter," I thank him. His answer (As simple as it was), was honest, and I respect honesty. Even from arrogant little brats like Potter.

He nods in a gesture I assume means "you're welcome". Once I see that he is done talking for now, I get up and limp toward the remains of Hogwarts, favoring my left side the whole way.

Poppy is the first person I see upon entering, and I am grateful for that. She sends me to the Hospital Wing and tells me she will be along shortly. I limp through the halls to the Hospital, all the while thinking about Potter. He is a very strange boy indeed.

I find an empty bed and situate myself into a comfortable sleeping position. I have no intention on sleeping, but this position has me comfortable and has my wounds facing upward. I hear footsteps enter the room and assume it is Poppy. However, the messy bunch of black shag Potter calls hair is what I open my eyes to.

"Snape," he says to me, his voice no longer readable. "I need your help." He looks sincere enough, but with this new and not-so improved Potter, you never know. He might be serious, or he might be trying to make a fool out of me.

"My help with what?" I ask, praying (Though I am not sure to whom) Poppy walks in before I hear the disturbed answer to the question I just had to ask.

"I want to learn more magic. Magic this God forsaken place is not going to teach me. I need more aggressive spells if I hope to survive the next battle, whenever that may be." He sounds so sure that I can help him. (I can, but I am not quite ready to divulge that little bit of information quite yet). It is strange really that he is the one asking me. I am one of the most skilled when it comes to duals, but real life battles are a whole different story.

"I will teach you what I can, but on one condition: We do things my way." I am just as straightforward as he is, except I have something Potter wants. Knowledge.

"Fine," he tells me. I sense a 'However' coming into play here. "However (Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!), during these sessions, I will not be your student." That sounds more like a command than a suggestion if you ask me. "You will simply be Severus Snape and I will simply be Harry Potter. No point deductions. No automatic superiority just because you are a teacher. Because, believe me Professor, I could cut you into a thousand tiny pieces with a flick of my wand. You are not my superior in any sense of the word."

His very description of the Bogglewart curse sends shivers all throughout my body. I've seen that spell too often to wish it upon myself. That is almost the Darkest curse ever to be created. How the hell that boy knows it escapes me. And frankly, makes me more than a little afraid.

"I understand Potter," I tell him, being completely honest in doing so. I am definitely afraid of the boy now. He could be so much greater than the Dark Lord ever could be. I almost want to surrender my loyalties to strictly him, but I suspect that is due more to my excessive loss of blood, rather me believing him to be my superior. Stupid self-righteous Gryffindor.

Poppy chooses that moment to walk in. The nonexistent deities seem to be watching out for me a lot more recently. Could that be a sign to avoid Potter at all costs? I cannot exactly finish that train of thought, for Potter is about to take his leave. However, he has some parting words for me:

"I'm serious Snape. If you fuck with me, I swear I'll kill you."


	3. Drinking Games

**A/N: Acck! I've realized something-Peach yogurt gives me inspiration! (I know I'm random). **

**A/N: I would love to thank huddleup and GothicTigres for reviewing. Coughnooneelseiscough I love you two for that! **** 3**

**A/N: I will be going back to school starting Monday, so my updates will not be as frequent. I will update as much as possible, but school is too dramatic to promise a chapter a day. Most likely, I will post another update today after I finish my weekend cleaning. **

**A/N: Because of school, my updates may seem a little wilder. ****I will try to keep them under control though:)**

Drinking Games

OoO

After Poppy was through fixing me up, I proceeded to take my leave and retire to my quarters. As I approach the door, I am thinking about the Vodka I have hidden under my mattress. I am also thinking about how I am going to love drinking it with my dinner consisting of French bread.

However, my plans are ruined as I open the door to my personal quarters and find Potter sitting on my bed. Will this boy ever get a life of his own? He is staring up at the ceiling with some sort of muggle device inside his ear. The wire connects to another muggle device shaped like an extraordinarily thin box. The sound the device is producing is unmistakable sound however. Music. Crappy music, but music nonetheless.

I glance at Potter. His shaggy black hair covers most of his face. His skin is paler than a ghost. And he is as skinny as a twig. I can only see half of his face, but what I can see is a truly dreadful sight. Scars are scattered throughout the facial skin. One particularly nasty scar travels from his upper lip to the very bottom of his chin in a diagonal line. He must have been in quite a few battles to receive those scars. Or perhaps just one truly terrible battle. Even with all his scars and unhealthy features, Potter is still beautiful. Wait-did I just think Potter to be beautiful?

I step directly in his line of sight, and he removes the things from his ears. He also must have turned off the box thing because the wretched music quit. He looks at me with curious eyes, and I pull him off of my bed gently. I shall drink my Vodka even with Potter here. After retrieving the bottle, I step behind my counter and grab two glasses from the cabinet. I fill one up with water and ice and set it aside. I fill the other up with my Vodka and close the bottle. I grab both glasses and return to the bed. After handing Potter his glass, I finally ask,

"What are you doing here Potter?"

"I'm sorry Severus," he tells me, using my first name again. I hate when he does that. "But I wanted to talk. Without boundaries." I suppressed a laugh.

"And what would you like to talk about?" I ask him, taking a nice long swig of my drink.

"Why you dislike me so much," is his simple, six word answer. He keeps using such short, simple replies that it is remarkable he does not have a girlfriend. Heterosexual women seem to prefer stupid guys (At least, guys that act stupid).

I sigh, then decide to answer him. "I do not dislike you, Potter. I simply do not wish to waste my kindness on someone who is just going to throw it out the window." The words escaped my mouth before I could stop myself. I was shocked at how brutally honest I had been. I was just honest with Potter. What is wrong with me?

"Trust me Severus, it will not be thrown out any windows," he smiles, looking me in the eye. "And you're supposed to call me Harry." This boy is so strange. The way he looks at me with his smile turned into a smirk. He should be in Slytherin. That look. Is it lust I detect? No. It cannot be. The boy is heterosexual, not homosexual. Right?

"And how do I know you won't misuse it Pot-Harry?" I can't believe I just called him Harry. Me. Harry. These are definitely strange times. I return the smirk, hoping to read the boy a little more. He is like a puzzle I just can't solve, nor can I give up before solving it. How can this boy transform me into something different? Something nice? I am not a nice person. Am I?

"I can't give you anything more than my word Severus. If you require more than that, you are out of luck. It is just not possible," he says all this like it is rehearsed. I suspect it was rehearsed at some point in time. Should I trust the word of such a traumatized child? I am not sure, but I will play it by ear for now. The boy deserves that much.

"I will accept your word," I tell him. If only for now. I will not be played Harry James Potter. Not even by someone as…I will not even finish that train of thought. That is a road I wish to leave untraveled, if only for now. "However, Harry, my kindness comes at a price. I will need your word my being kind to you remains between the two of us only. If word got round that Severus Snape was a nice man, there'd by kids blowing shit up every day."

He smirked at that. I couldn't help it. Seeing that Slytherin smirk made me smile. Then, seeing me smile, Potter's smirk turns into a frown and a look of utter confusement crosses his face. Seeing this makes me laugh. I am not sure why, but I find myself thinking that hanging around with Potter may prove helpful to the both of us. He sure as Dumbledore's obsession for lemon drops needs it.

"Stop laughing at me," he complains, a hint of whining in his voice. I stop because the joke is no longer funny. (Well, not much anyway). Seeing him complain is truly the James I know. This boy sitting next to me is so different from James though. It is uncanny his resemblance to the Dark Lord on the battle field, but to his father behind closed doors.

"Why don't we play a game?" he asks, eyeing my Vodka. I am not sure where this is leading, but I am sure it is nowhere legal. I do not really care however, seeing as I just finished killing several Death Eaters I formally worked with. One being an extremely close friend if you could call it that.

"It depends on the game," I reply, not honestly caring. I feel I should put up some sort of a front for the boy's sake. And my own.

"It is a drinking game Ron and I used to play back in fourth year while I was participating in the TriWizard Tournament. What you do is this: One person asks a simple question, like 'What's your favorite color?', and the person answering takes a drink, then answers. After he answers, he asks the next person a similarly simple question. The same thing applies. The asked takes a drink, then answers. The questions start getting deeper as more liquor is consumed. Each answer must be answered honestly, or the game is pointless." His last sentence sounded very commanding, almost imploringly so.

"Alright, I'll play. On one condition. This stays between the two of us," I tell him forcefully. I do not care if he objects. That is my only requirement. If he does not like it, I will not play.

"Ok. I'll go first," he announces, much to my surprise. I had honestly hoped he would object. "What is your favorite color?" Simple question. I grab the Vodka and take a drink. The warm liquid floods through my body, and the answer slips out.

"Emerald," I answer, completely honestly. The shock on his face is strongly misplaced. Of course I love Emerald. I am a Slytherin after all. And besides, there are other Emerald things I like as well. I look at Potter, trying to think of a question. One pops into my head and I ask it before I forget.

"What is your favorite subject?"

He takes a drink, then smirks at me. "That one's easy," his smirk remains. "Potions." Is that some sort of hint, or has is favorite subject always been Potions? And if it has, why is he always so reluctant to learn during my lessons? No. I will not go there.

"So, Severus," he sounds coy. I do not like that. At all. "What's the name of the first woman you've ever loved?" I take a drink only because I want to. This answer requires no liquor to answer honestly. Or to compel the answer out of me.

"I've never loved a woman," I tell him simply. It is completely true. I, Severus Snape, am a homosexual and proud of it. Somehow, I think Potter was just testing me. However, he seems normal. He doesn't look shocked, nor does he look relieved. Neither of which are good signs. I sigh and ask another question.

"Where was your first birthday party?" I ask, trying to lead the topic away from my love life. He takes a long drink of the Vodka, then turns to me with sad eyes. "I've never had a birthday party," he says softly. How cruel to never let a child have a birthday party! If he and I live to his next birthday, I will throw him a party. No matter the comments.

My attempts were in vain, for his next question was exactly what I'd hoped to avoid. "Then who was the first man you loved?" Crap. How do I tell Potter that the first person I'd ever truly been in love with was a muggle man I met at my third cousin's wedding?

I take an extraordinarily long drink before answering this next question. "His name was Nicholas. He was a beautiful man. His abs were perfectly toned. He had a great personality, too. If he wasn't a muggle, I think I might have married him." Whoa. I hadn't wanted to say all that. I think I'm a little drunk.

"So who was the first woman you ever loved?" I ask him, taking another sip before handing him the bottle. I am hoping for a particular answer. I doubt he'll give it, but hoping will not kill me. I hope.

He took more than a drink before answering this one. "I'm gay," he said finally, smirking at me again. Damn, that smirk was exciting.

I look at him with an empty face. Inside I may be shocked into oblivion, but outside I am completely calm and collected. At least I am until his next question.

"Who was the best?" His simple question makes no sense to my drunken mind. Thinking about it only gives me a headache and sends the room spinning, so I just ask him to elaborate.

"You know," he says, urging me on. He is quite drunk as well. "Who was the best? Who can you always remember screwing?" I spit out the Vodka I had been just about to swallow. He only laughed at that.

"Lucius." The answer came so quickly, I am not quite sure I even thought it out first. I did not want Potter knowing I had sex with Lucius, yet alone that he was my favorite. Too much Vodka. I continued the game however.

"You?" I honestly wanted to know, though I am not sure why. He is my student, it should not matter. But my mouth spoke the question too fast.

He took a long swig of the Vodka. "I'm still a virgin," he told me, a longing in his voice. I remember those days. When all I wanted was to know the feeling. But that was a long time ago.

"What is the one thing that keeps you up at night, Severus?" he asks quietly, sounding a little afraid of the answer. This answer took quite a bit of Vodka and even more thinking. My insomnia is what keeps me up at night. My insomnia is caused by nightmares. The nightmares are about things I would not discuss with Potter unless my life depended on it. Which, at the current moment, it does not.

"I have insomnia due to nightmares," I tell him. It is the truth. I am only answering the question in which I was asked. So why do I feel like I'm cheating him out of what is rightfully his? It's not like I can tell Potter that I have nightmares about him. It's not like I can tell him in every dream I have, he ends up dead with me mourning. It's not like I can tell him I was the one who killed him in many of the dreams. So why won't the feeling go away?

My question surprised the boy. "What was your favorite dream?" He drains the rest of my Vodka before answering. I am only upset because now I have to buy more Vodka from Honeydukes. They charge double for muggle liquor.

"I was a little boy. I was learning how to ride my bicycle. My dad was pushing me while my mom was videotaping the whole thing. We were all laughing and happy. It was as if Voldemort was never born. It was great," he explains softly, looking at the floor. I could see the tears rolling down his cheeks even though he was trying to hide it. I wrap my arms around the poor boy's shoulders and pull him into an embrace.

The feeling is strange. He feels completely cold and lifeless. His breath smells terribly of Vodka. He buries his head into my chest and sobs himself to sleep.

Not wanting to wake the precious brat, I carefully lay him on my couch in the Living Room. It is only about twenty feet away from me, but I still feel as if I am abandoning him. I rummage in the closet for a spare blanket. After finding one, I carefully drape it over the boy's sleeping body and head into the bathroom.

Looking into the mirror, I sigh. What has become of me? Getting old turned half of my head grey. Now my hair looks like a damn salt and pepper shaker than my usual mane of greasy black. My eyes look sunken and lifeless, almost as if they belong to Dumbledore instead of myself. I am only thirty-eight years old, and already I look like a fifty-year-old. The fine wrinkles have created permanent craters in my face around my eyes. Damn! Why do I have to smile so much? Curse being a happy person.

Sighing, I undress and turn the water on cool. No need to wake myself up. I will be going to bed after this and brushing my teeth. I get into the completely welcomed shower and scrub every speck of dirt off of my body. I notice several scars that I never realized were there before. It is truly amazing. One night of talking with Potter, and I find so many things wrong with myself. Coincidence perhaps, but I doubt it. I even scrub my hair until it is free of grease. Then I apply conditioner so it at least appears soft. Potter better be happy.

After my shower, I dress and face the mirror. I wipe the steam from my view and start brushing my hair. I brush it back into a ponytail. Shit, I look like a woman. Oh well. It is not like I am going out like this. Not until there is a cold day in Hell anyway. After fixing my hair, I start to brush my teeth. If the Vodka smell is not gone by morning, I will not be able to deny getting Potter drunk. After brushing my teeth, gums, cheeks, tongue, and the roof of my mouth, I rinse with my twelve hour, plaque fighting mouthwash.

I sigh and lay down on my bed. I know falling asleep will be nearly impossible, so I get up and find my last vial of Essence of Sleep. I drain the vial in less than thirty seconds. I lay back down and bring the covers up to my chin. I am soon asleep. Dead asleep.

The next morning I awake to a throbbing headache. The first thing I do is take a vial of Pain Reliever, then pour myself an extremely tall glass of water. I stand there with my eyes closed, chugging the water. Still feeling thirsty, I refill the glass. After finishing that one, I look around. My eyes fall on Harry. Then the empty Vodka bottle.

Memories from last night come flooding back. Telling him I was gay. Him telling me he was gay. Telling him I screwed Lucius. Him saying he was a virgin. Then me telling him I was an insomniac who experienced vivid, very disturbing nightmares. Him crying himself to sleep. Me dreaming of him talking to me all day today in nothing but his boxers. His green eyes shining like a lighthouse warning the distance boats. And of the Dark Lord finally killing Potter off and recruiting the rest of the Wizarding World into his own army.

There is only one thought that will not leave my mind. I cannot forget it. No matter how much water I drink, the thought remains.

Fuck, I got a student drunk.


	4. Lessons Learned

**A/N: First: Thank you to my two lovely reviewers! Huddleup and GothicTigres, I really do appreciate the comments. **

**A/N: Second: I know the last chapter probably had some mistakes and confusing points. I wrote it at one in the morning after a day of cleaning and shopping. I was so exhausted that I don't even remember half of what I wrote. XD. However, Harry saying that he was a virgin was not a mistake. He does not consider being raped as losing his virginity. I guess I should have put that in there. . . Severus's age was a mistake. I shall go and fix that. OK. Now Severus is ****thirty-eight. And yes, Severus is ashamed of his Vodka. Not because it is a muggle drink, but because ****he drinks so much of it. He does not wish for people to know he is an alcoholic. **

Lessons Learned

OoO

I wake Potter up and send him to his room before any of the staff have a chance to wake up. At first, I think he is actually starting to move, but he falls back down onto the bed because he is so tired. I drag him over to the middle of the room so I do not get my couch wet. As he lays there, I get a bucket of cold water and throw it on him. He jumps up, startled.

"You've got to get out of here," I explain, casting an instant drying spell. "If any of the staff find out I got you drunk last night, I won't have a job in September." He pulls himself up and heads toward the door, scratching the back of his head. He turns around as he is about to turn the knob and save my career.

"We need to talk," he tells me before opening the door and leaving my quarters.

I sigh in relief, then realize what he had said. We need to talk. I am not dating the boy, so he cannot be breaking up with me. So what is there to talk about? I hope his talking does not involve him being in his boxers. That would just be too creepy.

I look around my sanctuary. My eyes fall on the clock. Nine forty-three. Great. I have an entire day ahead of me. I decide I am hungry, so I walk up to the Great Hall and sit at the Slytherin table. Usually, I sit at the Staff table. Today however, I want to remember the good time in my life. The time when nobody bothered me because they thought they would die just by looking at me. Such great times. I do not remember ever smiling during that period in my life though. I remember being happy, but I cannot remember smiling. Ever. Strange.

I am so lost in thought that I do not see the boy walk in. At first, I think it is Potter, but on closer inspection, I realize this boy's eyes are not Emerald. He is not that visible either. He is sitting at the Gryffindor table with his head down. The nearly transparent boy slowly raises his head to look at me. Even from this distance, the image is obviously James. But, that is not possible. Even if he was a ghost (Which I am almost certain he is not), he would be in his adult form. This child staring at me from across the hall cannot be more than fifteen years old. The eye color changes in a split second and lasts for just as long. Even in the minute amount of time, I am sure of one thing. The color was Emerald. The ghost of James Potter disappears into the floor as if it were melting. This is one strange occurrence I must speak with the Headmaster about.

As I am walking to his room, I decide to leave out the fact that I have a hangover. "Blueberry gumdrops," I say to the stone gargoyle blocking my path. The figurine jumps aside and I climb the winding staircase that leads to Dumbledore's room. I barge into the room without knocking and find Dumbledore sitting behind his desk with a grim expression on his face.

"I suppose you've come to see me about James," he sighs, leaning over and propping his head up onto his hands. The man looks so tired and exhausted from yesterday's battle. I feel slightly sorry for him.

"Yes," I say, "And by your expression, I'd say he visited you as well." It is strange. Very strange.

"I fear it is a warning of what is to come," Dumbledore sighs again. I do not understand what he is saying exactly, so I ask,

"What do you mean, Headmaster?"

"I mean," he says, a grave look crossing his normally jovial face, "I fear Harry may die before his next birthday."

I am confused. I thought Potter was already sixteen. "But Headmaster, isn't Potter already sixteen?" I ask the man.

"I am afraid Severus," he says to me, the twinkle completely gone from his eyes, "Harry's birthday is in three days' time. He may not live through the night for all we know."

Fearing the Headmaster is right, I jump from my seat, mutter something about needing to attend to something, and set off for the boy's dorm. He is not there, and I cannot breathe. I really should not care. I scramble around, trying to think of where Potter may be. I search for about an hour and find nothing. I decide to go back to my quarters and lie down for a while. Maybe some alone time will give me some insight as to where the boy's run off to.

I open the door, and my heart stops. Sitting on my couch is Potter with Lily and James on either side of him. Well, their ghosts at least. Upon seeing me, the two ghosts vanish. I am stuck with a grieving Potter who just lost his parents for the third time.

I sit down next to his shaking body and wrap my arms around him (Déjà vu). He leans into me, the back of his head resting against my collarbone. His body is rising and falling with his sobs, and I still feel him shaking violently. The coldness of his skin is shocking. I know I am cold, but he is deathly cold.

We sit like that for about fifteen minutes. The boy's shaking has reduced to little more than a shudder here and there, and his sobbing has died down.

"They came to tell me I was going to die," he whispered, depression completely filling his voice. "They said I was going to die before my birthday." He sounds so upset, so completely depressed. A fifteen-year-old should not sound like that. He should be happy and carefree, not trapped inside his own mind with nobody to turn to except himself. In a few seconds, his attitude had completely changed. "They come to see me only when I'm about to fucking die. Why the hell did they even come?" He was obviously angry, but by his waiting, I assume he was waiting for answer.

"Harry," I say to him softly, "They want you to be prepared. They don't want their only son to die." I knew that was a load of bull, but I had to say it for Potter's sake. I do not want the boy to be any more miserable than he already is.

"That's bullshit Sev. And you know it," He whispers, turning to face me. His eyes are so bright and full of anger. Damn, those eyes are attractive. I cannot seem to take my gaze away from his eyes. So Emerald. So beautiful. No! I cannot think of Potter in that way. He is but a student. A child. And yet, I still think of him as a very attractive man.

"Harry," I whisper. "It'll all be okay. I will not let anyone hurt you," I promise the boy. And I mean every word I said. I will never let anything happen to the boy staring at me with such hurt in his eyes. I will protect him until I die.

"Thank you Severus. You do not know how much that means to me," he says, burying his head in my chest. He is not crying, but the warmth feels good. I sigh inwardly. How can I find a student attractive? He is but a mere boy. I am a grown man. It's pedophilia. And yet…

"You are right Harry. I do not know. But I do know one thing." I take a deep breath. "I'll always be here. Anytime day or night. If you call for me, I will be there to answer." I was being completely honest in saying so, but still, I know I am still thinking of my own, pedophiliac thoughts.

Potter looks up at me, those big emerald eyes full of hatred. Not for me, I know. However, after everything he's been through, hatred is putting it nicely. "Severus," he whispers, but not exactly speaking to me. He's just sort of saying it out loud. Still, I feel a strange sensation in my stomach. One I have not felt since Nicholas. I cannot help it when my heart speeds up as he leans closer to my face. No. The aroma radiating off his body is intoxicating, and I soon find myself leaning ever so slowly toward him. No. His lips are almost touching mine. No. Before I realize it, he and I are locked in a kiss. No. This isn't right. But I cannot seem to stop myself from letting the boy explore my mouth. Nor can I stop myself from exploring his.

He finally pulls away with a flushed face. He is breathing deeply as well, and I cannot help but to laugh inwardly at that. He must not do much kissing if he is out of breath that quickly. Then another problem arises as he looks at me with lust-filled eyes. No. I refuse to have sex, consensual or not, with a child. It is completely and utterly wrong. How am I supposed to live with myself if I, the adult (and supposedly more responsible) person out of the two of us, take advantage of such a vulnerable child?

But, he may not live through the night. It would be terrible to send him to his dorm all by himself only to die alone. He should stay with me until his birthday passes. But I will not, under any circumstances, have sex with him. No matter what he says, does, asks, begs, etc. I refuse to turn into a pedophile.

"Severus," he says, those ever so captivating green eyes fixed on me. Damn him to Hell. He is turning me on. And he knows it. No. He does not. My own perversions are turning me on. How can I be turned on by a child? Aren't such things frowned upon? So why do I have the urge to take him right then and there?

"I need to ask you something," he has to know those eyes are so easy to be turned on by. He has to. Nobody can go through life with such beautiful eyes and never know how much people are turned on by them. "What does it feel like?"

I do not comprehend what he is asking. What does what feel like?

"You know,_ it_," He says the word as if it is cursed. I am still confused, but I think he is referring to sex. In fact I am almost sure of it as he shifts nervously.

"If you are referring to sex, it differs with the person. While I may think it feels spectacular, you may think it hurts like Hell," I explain, feeling as if I am a parent. Weren't his relatives supposed to take care of him? I mean, I know they were bad, but come on. They can't have thought it best to shield him from such things.

"So you're saying I won't know until I actually experience it?" he asks, slightly squirmish. His face is pinker than a newborn baby's cheeks. It is a rather sad display actually. I truly feel sorry for him.

I nod at his question. He looks a little discouraged. Damn, he looks so beautiful when he is upset. NO! He is a fucking CHILD! I cannot, and will not bed him. No. I must tear myself away from his ever piercing gaze. I cannot. I feel the pressure as he silently begs me for what he so desperately wants but cannot voice. It is so sad. The image of such a vulnerable child will forever scar my mind.

"O-Okay," he stutters, probably thinking that I had not picked up on his silent request. He removes himself from my couch and heads for the door. Fearing his safety, I jump up and stop him.

"P-Harry. Stay with me tonight," I say to the boy. His eyes reignite and I am tempted to just ignore my ill feelings of foreboding. However, I cannot. "Please. I do not know how I would keep going with you dead." At that statement, Potter's eyes seem to fill with flames of anger. His face turns red with fury.

"Of course you would," he snapped. The words were like venom coursing through my blood. "Why would you need me? I am only as valuable to you as your next plaything!" I feel as if ice has completely covered my heart. "Well, Severus, it's good to see that old habits die hard."

I was in utter shock at his sudden outburst. And completely infuriated. "How can you say that?" I demand, the question being rhetorical. "After all I've done for you?" That question was meant to be answered.

"Done for me?" His voice was low and past the point of being completely consumed with anger. "All my life, you've hated me! All my life you've caused me nothing but Hell! What the hell have you ever done for me?"

"I've protected you!" My own voice was on the verge of begging. I, Severus Snape, have resorted to _beggin__g_ for what I desire.

"Protected me, my ass." He was completely consumed by rage. "All you've ever protected was yourself, you arrogant prick. How you can sit there and claim to have protected me appalls even me. Where were you when Malfoy and his cronies constantly screwed up my life? Where were you when Quirrel tried to kill me? Where were you when I was forced to watch Cedric get murdered by Voldemort? And where the hell were you in all your omnipotent glory this summer when I was forced to watch my Aunt and Uncle get brutally murdered? Huh, Severus? Where the fuck were you all those times I needed a shoulder to cry on and had nowhere and nobody to turn to? Where were you when I was stuck with no fucking parents? You claim you loved my mother. So where were you when her fucking son was left on the doorstep of people who wanted nothing to do with him? If you loved my mother so fucking much, why the hell didn't you try to rescue me? I was living there for over fifteen years. Fifteen years filled with nothing but constant fucking torture. And not one word from your sorry ass. But what's worse? Just last summer, the only family I had left perished at the hand of his own Goddamn family. And what were you doing? Nothing. Just like always. Never once lifting a finger to help anyone but yourself. You're always belittling others, making them feel like trash. Why not just tell them all to go fuck themselves and get them out of the way? Why do you have to live off of other people's pain?" His last sentence was nearly inaudible, but the emotion it relayed was obvious. Sorrow.

He had completely poisoned my veins with his words. I can feel every beat my heart makes, every pulse that shoots up and down my arms. And every time it feels slower. Every time carries a minute more pain the last. It is nearly impossible for me to answer him, but I muster a reply anyway.

"I tried," is all I can manage to choke out.

"You tried. I should have expected something so pitiful from such a pitiless man," A knife goes through my heart at those words. "If you tried, then you screwed me up even more than I already was." And he left.

For a moment, I cannot breathe. My breath has caught in my throat as if there was a tiny balloon at the back of my throat taking all the air that should rightfully be mine. He was right.

I do not wish to admit it, but he was right. I have not been there to protect him as I so greatly desire to think I have been. It is a strange feeling indeed. Almost as if I feel guilty for abandoning this child during the most influential stages of his life. Almost as if I feel responsible for his terrible upbringing. Almost as if every dreadful thing that happened to him was my fault. Almost.

I retreat to my room, my breath finally returning. I gasp it down. I realize I almost had a panic attack. What the hell is so special about this boy? Why the hell does he affect me so damn much? I try to help the whelp and he lays a guilt trip on me? What gives him the right?

I know I am only making excuses, but the lessons learned tonight were not ones I wished to learn. All I want is for Potter to be here, safe and sound with me. It may be classified by authorities as pedophilia, but I don't give a damn anymore. I cannot help who I-dare I think it-_love_. I cannot be held responsible for the desires my heart seeks. Nor can I be held responsible for loving such a young child.

Screw society. I will love whoever the fuck I want.


	5. In Between

**A/N: Yayness! I absolutely love all the wonderful reviews I got last chapter! Gothic Tigress and huddleup have been there since the very beginning, and I love their views! I also am so appreciative of Rana an Shanaan for reviewing as well. By the way, there will be fluffiness, just not right now. And don't worry; the story will probably always have darkness, for that is what I love to write!**

**A/N:**** Gothic Tigress (Sorry I've been misspelling your name!), ****yes you can draw whatever scene you want. I have personally drawn quite a few; drawing is my third obsession (Behind music which is behind writing). I would post them, but I have no scanner. :( lol**

In Between

OoO

I set out to find Potter and make sure he lives through the next three days. I will kill myself in the most inhuman way I can think of if he dies because of my stupidity. Why hadn't I seen that blow-up coming? After all the observing I've done of the boy. How could I have been so utterly stupid?

After several hours of meticulous searching, I finally just want to be alone from everything. Potter is probably dead. My fault. I never got to tell him the truth. My fault. His life sucked. Not my fault, but I still should have done something. I am heading for the Lake, the easiest place to go to when one yearns for solitude. Even when others are there as well, it does not matter. It is as if you are the only one there.

I sit underneath a billowy willow and stare at the ever-changing water. It reminds me of Potter. Inconsistent. Wild. Completely unpredictable. And yet, somehow, so calm. So tame. So full of life.

The waves crash almost soundlessly at the shore. It is at this time that I realize there is a person sitting along the shoreline. His hair is being blown softly across his face (I assume) in the gentle breeze. He is sitting with his back to me and has his legs drawn up to his chest. He is holding his knees and his spine juts out in ways that almost seem unnatural (and probably are). By the way his body is shaking, I assume he is crying.

Being the oh so nice man that I am, I get up and walk over to the boy. He hears me approach and looks up at me. Shadows of the night seem to bring out the true Harry Potter. There are all sorts of shadows playing on his face, all changing with the movement of the waters. In all the darkness, those Emerald eyes just stand out. That is all you can see when you look at him on first glance.

I sit down next to the boy, which he does not complain about, but does not look too happy about (from what I can see of him anyway). I am tempted to just run my fingers through the wild, untamed hair that covers his face. I do not however. All I do is look at him.

"I'm sorry Harry," I say to him, my voice coming out much lower than I expected it to.

"Are you?" His voice is still harsh, but to a much lesser extent. "Are you really sorry for everything you've done?"

I nod my head. "Yes. I am." The words come out only a fraction of an octave louder than my last apology. I am surprised by the nervousness I feel.

He does not say anything to me; he only looks at me with those piercing green eyes. "Prove it." Are the only two words he gives me.

I sigh. "How can I?" I ask him with defeat lingering in my voice. "How can I possibly explain what I myself do not understand completely?"

"Try." The word is like poison.

I cannot form my thoughts into verbal expressions. All hope of ever convincing him that I am serious has completely gone from my mind. Until I act impulsive for the first time in my life. I lean over and pull Potter into a kiss. At first, he is surprised, but once he realizes that this is my explanation, he begins kissing back. I feel a tingling sensation start in the middle of my back and spread through my entire body.

He pulls away from me, a look of lovingness on his Dark face.

"Was that sufficient?" I ask, a slightly humorous tone accompanying my words.

"Yes, it was more than sufficient. I would have been happy with anything, really. But that was much better than the first, and a whole lot better than an explanation," Harry's voice is low and provocative. At least, that is what my brain comprehends it as.

"Will you sleep in my room?" I ask, feeling like a teenager again. It sounds as if I am asking him to screw me (which I'll admit-Not something I'm against him doing to me), but I am not. I still do not wish to have sex with this beautiful boy. Not before he gets a whole lot healthier.

"Yes, so long as I am sleeping in the bed next to you," he replies calmly. His choice of words implies he does not wish to screw me tonight. Though I am disappointed, I am still relieved. I would hate to lose my job because I am caught having sex with a student.

'That is something I think I can agree with," I say to him, getting off the ground. I hold my hand out for him, and he takes it. Together, we walk back to my room.

OoOoO

Sitting on my bed in flannel pajamas (Surprisingly) is Potter. He has been sitting there staring at me get ready for bed since I got in the shower (which he probably would have watched, too, had I not closed the door). It is quite frustrating to know someone is watching everything you do. And it is making me self-conscience.

I feel his eyes on my back as if pull up my pajama pants (Luckily, I had put on my boxers in the bathroom). Unfortunately, now Potter knows the answer to the infamous question: Does the bat wear boxers or briefs? As I pull my shirt over my head however, I start to feel tingling sensations erupt under my skin.

I have to sleep with Potter.

The words sound so wrong, but in this case, are completely true. Potter must sense that I am about to retire, for he suddenly (but oh so attractively) lays down and pulls the covers up to the small of his stomach. I lay down and pull the covers up to my chin. The knot in my stomach returns as I force myself to turn on my side so I am not facing Potter.

Damn. That boy has me wanting a hell of a lot more than I wish to want. I force my eyes closed as I feel his eyes on my back. Maybe I should try and enter his dreams. That would be wrong, and it would cause Potter not to trust me any longer. I certainly do not want that. If anything, I just want to sit back and read, but the boy has me completely jumpy. I will sleep to come. It finally does.

The next morning I awake to myself facing Potter. Curse my sleep turning. His hand is on my thigh, and he is close enough to stab me if he wanted to (I pray he doesn't). His breath smells terrible, but he finally looks happy. He is probably dreaming about Sirius. Somehow, that man always made him happy. I wonder… Never mind.

I carefully remove myself from the awkward situation and use the bathroom. I also brush my teeth and hair in hopes that I look more presentable than Potter. I change in the bedroom, completely unaware of the Emerald eyes watching me as I undress. I am pulling on a new pair of boxers when I hear something from the bed. The sheet moving. I pull up my boxers and glance over. Potter is still laying down where I left him. I must be getting paranoid. However, I am sure I hear another movement as I zip up my trousers. I turn around and see Potter sitting up, looking at me.

"You've got really nice ass-I mean _abs_," he says, slightly blushing. I look down. Sure I have muscles. All Death Eaters do. You can't _not_ have muscles when you're running around all the time. Still, I feel slightly self-conscience again. What if he _had_ been awake when I'd been changing my boxers?

I really did not want to think about that.

I pull my shirt over my head. Potter seems a little disappointed. Or maybe I am just imagining things. That is possible. As I pull my robe on, I notice something glint off of my nightstand. I walk over to it, and Potter's whole body stiffens. I pick up the small silver object, and my heart speeds up.

A razor blade.

Anger starts to cloud my vision as look over at Potter, who is now shaking. I hold up the small blade and glare down at him.

"What is this?" I demand in a loud, angry voice.

"It-It's my razor," he tells me, his voice shaking. He looks so scared, and my anger levels drop significantly. However, not enough for me not to care.

"Why do you have a razor on the night stand?" I ask, worry starting to mix with the anger. Deities of all kind help me if the boy is slitting his wrists.

"I use it as in-insurance," he stutters, a little more relaxed.

"Insurance for what?" I ask calmly, panic rising in my chest. Please don't say what I think you're going to say. Please, Potter please. Look at my face. Can you not see that I am silently begging you to say something other than…?

"You know. Just in case I get numb." Those words felt like ice streaming through my veins. "I hate not being able to feel. So when I don't feel anything, I cut myself just to make sure I am still alive." I sigh at that last sentence. I know how it feels to be completely numb.

I do not tell him not to do it, for it would be hypocritical of me to do so. I simply give him a disapproving look and head out of my quarters. Fearing he might do something stupid (like leave my room unlocked); I charm it to lock as soon as it is opened again.

Sighing inwardly, I set off to the grounds. I can still picture the blood and bodies everywhere. I can still smell the stench of dead bodies baking in the afternoon heat. My stomach churns as that thought passes through my head. There are no people on the grounds. I am the only one.

The only one awake I imagine. It is still very early, and the sun is just beginning to rise. The beauty of life is a remarkable thing. Any stranger to the school could stand here and watch the sun rise, the thought of seventy-eight mangled Death Eaters scattered throughout the grounds never crossing their mind. I am envious of their ignorance. In one week's time, the brats will all be here. They never think terrible battles occur at Hogwarts. On the contrary, many of the most dreadful battles have taken place on these grounds.

Children are only as ignorant as the adults who teach them. If it were up to me, the students here would know a hell of a lot more than they do. It does no good to shelter them from the cruel truth that is life. It just proves how ignorant adults truly are.

I see it as it speeds toward the castle at a speed faster than one would think possible. There is an entire pack of centaurs hurtling in my direction. They looked pissed off. They are about six hundred feet away before I do anything. I start putting up wards around the castle like a madman. I finish the last one as they reach me. The leader glares at me.

"What do you want?" I ask them, sounding a hell of a lot stronger than I feel.

"We want the boy," The leader tells me, fury dripping from his words.

You know what? You all can go fuck yourselves, because I am not giving up Potter to a pack of brainless centaurs. "You must be mistaken. Term does not start for another seven days. The only ones here are the Staff," I tell him, keeping my voice apathetic.

"He said Potter was here. He will not cease his killing on our clan if we do not bring Potter to Him. Bring out the boy." That last statement was a demand. Too bad I don't give a fuck if they live or die.

"Then I am afraid you are all going to die, for Potter will not be here for another seven days, if he survived the summer at all," I tell them indifferently.

"We know you lie, Severus Snape. Now bring out the boy or we will open fire on your sorry excuse for a school," he threatens, several of his "clan" raising their bows.

"I would love to hand the brat over to you, but, as I have stated previously, he is not here," I tell him, keeping my voice even. However, panic was starting to rise in my chest.

"You are nothing but a traitor and a liar," he snarls at me, raising his own bow.

"He may be a liar," comes a voice from behind me. I twirl around and find myself face to face with Potter. "But he is not a traitor." He steps up to my side and crosses his arms. "He has always been a member of the 'Light' side. You may switch sides throughout the war, but that does mean he is as inconsistent or disloyal as you are."

"We are not to kill you, but I doubt He would mind if we rid the world of such a disgrace." The leader says menacingly.

Potter snorts. "You really think Voldemort won't care if you disobey him? You think he's killing you guys now? Just wait. You will all be dead within seconds." He speaks the truth, and the centaurs know it.

I look to the back of the group and see several laying on the ground. Dead. One by one, they are dropping like flies. And their leader doesn't even realize it. Soon there are only two left other than the leader.

Potter smirks at him.

"If you will not come willingly, then we shall be compelled to take you by force," the leader says, putting an arrow to his bow.

"Really?" Potter asks, that Slytherin smirk remaining. "And how do you plan on taking me with a total of three centaurs, including yourself?"

The leader looks at his fallen "clan", and is enraged. He turns around and faces Potter, seething.

"This will not be the last you see of us, Harry Potter. Be ready when we return," the centaur threatens, he and all that are left of his clan galloping off in the direction of the forest.

"I'm sorry, but I'll never see you again," Harry says to himself before killing the three of them.

Then I remember my wards.

How the hell was he able to nonverbally Avada them through protection wards? That is just not possible. I turn to ask him, but he is already gone. I do not especially feel like staying on the grounds any longer, so I head toward the castle.

Upon entering, a strange feeling washes over me. A feeling of anxiety. Where is Potter, and why did he leave so suddenly?

I rush to my quarters, not particularly caring about the portraits giving me dirty looks for waking them. I throw open my door, and Potter is sitting in the middle of my Living Room floor, covered in blood.

I rush over to him and cast Scourgify on him several times to wash away the layers of blood that coat his skin. The wounds I find are deep, and could only have been caused by a centaur. But he never made contact with…Oh my non-existent God.

"Where the hell did you learn _Astronilia_? I demand. Astronilia is an extremely Dark spell almost impossible to master. Most just turn invisible for a few seconds. Potter held an entire conversation in one form while silently killing centaurs in the other. Even the Dark Lord cannot perform it correctly.

"I'm not an idiot," he snaps as I treat a particularly deep wound. There are only a few wounds left, but he still looks like he walked through a corridor full of knives and he didn't quite fit. Lacerations cover his body. It is not a pretty picture. It looks ten times more painful than _Sectumsempra_, and I thought of that one myself.

"I never said you were an idiot. But how did you learn to perform such a Dark spell almost perfectly?" I ask, worried about his mental health. He's keeping razors just to cut himself with, performing Dark spells on himself, and doing who knows what else!

"I've had some time to myself," he explains as I finish the last treatment. "I thought knowing some Dark spells could be useful, and obviously I was right."

"Be useful for what exactly?" I ask, fear already climbing up the back of my throat. Please. Please let the boy not have intended to use it for suicidal purposes.

"Well," he says, taking a deep breath. "If times ever got too bad, I could end it so easily. And still make it look as if it were an accident," he explains.

I swear he can read minds. At least my mind for that matter.

"So not only are you keeping a razor blade on hand, you've also collected a whole shitload of Dark spells and curses if things got to be too much?" I inquire, my question being rhetorical.

"Yes, I have, Severus," he tells me defiantly. He has a determined look on his face as he sits on my Living Room floor covered in wounds and wearing nothing except his boxers.

How the hell did I end up in between this boy taking his life and having his life taken from him?


	6. Forgotten

**A/N: Ah. I am so please with all the lovely reviews I got on the last chapter. Hehe. Love all around! This chapter is intended to clear some things up. It might be full of surprises that you may not have picked up on throughout the earlier portion of the story. Who knows? It might not be full of anything but nonsense… And my rambling.**** I think Harry's birthday is July 31, but don't quote me on that one.****And, I do not know what Severus's parents' names were.**** Yes I looked in the books, but I found nothing. :( So, if anyone knows, please enlighten me.****On with chapter six!**

Forgotten

OoO

I wake up the next morning with a throbbing headache. For a moment, I am completely confused. I am on the floor. Potter is almost naked and covered with wounds. I feel tense and filthy. What the hell happened yesterday? I didn't fuck him, did I?

Then, the memories of the previous day return to me. Centaurs. Potter killing centaurs. That's why he is laying on my Living Room floor in a rather pathetic looking position. He is whimpering and moaning as if he is in the middle of a terrible nightmare.

Sighing, I decide to let him live out the dream, and I walk into my bathroom. Even though the students may not expect it, I do shower-and I do it often. I just choose not to wash my hair. However, Potter seems happier with my cleaner, softer hair, so I opt to wash it today. The cold water feels great on my burning skin. I cannot seem to remember how or why my skin feels as if it is on fire, nor do I honestly care all that much at the moment. All I care about is cooling off.

Feeling refreshed and satisfied with my shower, I step out (with my towel wrapped around me) only to find Potter standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. The boy still wears only his boxers. The sight is one that slightly arouses me. Slightly. He just stands there, smirking at me. Damn him and that smirk.

"Afraid of me seeing you naked, Severus?" he asks, humor in his voice. That damned smirk refuses to leave.

"It is not that I am _afraid _of you seeing me naked, Harry," I tell him, slightly embarrassed, "It is not proper. If someone were to walk in on me presenting you with a clear view of my bollocks, I am certain I would lose my job." Though, I'll admit, I wouldn't mind showing him my bollocks.

"So you _want_ me to see you naked, but you're afraid you're going to lose your job?" Potter is on the brink of laughing at me, but shows nothing more than that infamous smirk. Damn him.

"I never said that," I tell him quickly, afraid of where this conversation may lead.

"Your implications speak louder than your admissions," he tells me, an extremely erotic look crossing his face. I feel my body betraying my mind as I stare at the beautiful boy standing in front of me. Just one little fuck wouldn't matter…No. No, no, no, no, no. I can't. I won't. It just wouldn't be right. And yet, I find myself moving ever so slowly toward him. He knows he's got me turned on. He just _knows_ it. And he's using it against me. Damn him.

"My implications speak nothing, Harry, for I have not implied anything," I reply coolly, obviously not what Potter had expected. I praise myself inwardly for that.

"But, alas, Severus," he whispers into my ear, "You've implied so much"

I back away from the boy. I can't do it. I can't. I have too many moral values to adhere to. I'd never be able to live with myself. No. Harry's going to be a virgin when he turns sixteen. Well, I'm not going to bugger him anyway.

His Emerald eyes implore me to reconsider, but a simple shake of my head is all that is needed to send Potter back into the bedroom.

Thank God.

I close and lock the door before dressing myself. Trying to get dressed while hearing Potter singing in the next room is almost impossible. Where the hell did he learn to sing like that?

Finally, I pull open the door and step into my bedroom. He is completely oblivious to the fact that I can hear him plain as day singing that dreadful music. Granted, he can sing, but whatever song he is singing sounds like melodramatic childish drama crap.

I start laughing outwardly, though very quietly, and I pick up some of what he is singing:

_You promise me the sky_

_Then toss me like a stone_

_You wrap me in your arms_

_And chill me to the bone_

_(In Pieces-Linkin Park)_

Whoa. The words sting my already pierced heart as I realize it relates to our situation in almost every aspect. Thoughts swirl through my head, and I do not notice Potter look at me until he clears his throat.

"Severus?" he asks.

"Yes?" I reply, refocusing on the present.

"Are you going to stand there watching me all day?" The question made me smile. If I could stand here and watch you all day, believe me, I would.

"No, Harry. I'm not going to stand here and watch you all day," I chuckle at the thought.

Potter looks offended. "Why? Am I not good enough to stare at all day?" He demands.

"I didn't say that either," I tell him, sighing. Must he act like a woman on her period? "All I said was that I do not wish to stand here in my rather dull quarters and stare at you." I choose this opportunity to smirk. "I'd much rather stare at you in the bright lights of the outdoors where I can actually _see_ you."

A grin erupts on the Gryffindor's face. "Well then, Severus," he says, happiness filling his voice, "Why don't we depart from these rather dull quarters and go outside into the light?"

I should not be so optimistic. The Dark Lord wants him dead, so I bring him out where everyone can easily see him? Maybe my subconscious wants the boy dead. I would not be surprised. All Potter does to me is put me on edge, _and_ put my life in constant danger, _and_ turn me into a pedophile. So what would make me _want_ him alive? Honestly, I cannot think of one thing that I want more than Potter alive. My subconscious has other plans however.

I nod my head and the two of us make our way to the grounds. Anxiety peaks inside my gut, and I know we should not go outside right now. However, my brain betrays my body, and I am forced to keep walking. Potter is grinning like a buffoon, his naïve mind none the wiser.

I am truly sorry for him. Whatever we are about to walk out into will _not_ hold well for him. Who knows? Maybe the Dark Lord will be waiting at the entrance. Or maybe I am just overreacting. But it all makes perfect sense; my stupidity will utterly lead Potter to his doom.

We burst into the early morning light and I am proven right. The Dark Lord is not waiting at the entrance, but there is an entire group of ravaging wolves standing in front of us. Not _were_wolves, just _wolves_. However, these wolves look as if they have been starved to near death. They are eyeing us hungrily, and panic grips my throat.

Potter already has his wand aimed at the closest wolf, and is about to curse it when the entire pack charges us. _Fuck_. I am _not_ dying by the hands of _brainless pack animals_! My anger fuels my attack on the wolves. Well, more like the slaughter on the wolves.

Pained animal cries and whimpers surround me as Potter and I mercilessly murder the helpless animals. One. Four. Six. Ten. Soon, there are more than thirty broken wolf bodies surrounding us. Blood covers our clothes, some ours, some belonging to the wolves.

Potter is breathing rapidly. I glance over at the boy. There is a long gash on his neck. The color is slowly draining from his face. Blood is gushing from the open wound. I wish to react, but my feet seem stuck in their place. Soon, his face was whiter than humanly possible.

"Severus." The pained whisper reaches my ears just before he collapses. Still rooted to the spot, I am forced to watch Potter slowly and painfully die.

_"What Severus? You did not expect me to do something so cruel?"_The hissing voice echoes through my head.

"NO!" I shout at nobody in particular. He is killing Potter. And it's my fault.

_"Ha! You think you can betray me and pay no consequence?"_ The hissing continues. _"I know of the sick__ obsession you have with the boy. Did you honestly think that would have gone unnoticed?"_

"SHUT UP!" I bellow into the wind. The hissing continues but is unintelligible. My head begins to throb as the hissing gets louder.

"SHUT UP!" I beg. I feel tears start to trail down my pasty skin as I look down at the helpless boy laying crumpled and broken in front of me. I fall to the ground and draw my knees close to my chest. I wrap my arms around my knees and begin to sob. Severus Snape has resorted to sobbing in public.

"Just shut up," I beg in a barely audible whisper. "Please."

OoOoO

I must have blacked out, for the next thing I knew, I was laying in a hospital bed in the Hospital Wing. There is no apparent sign of injury, but something must have happened, or I would not be here.

Remembering the early morning brawl, I frantically search for Potter's silhouette in the darkened Hospital. I see only empty beds surrounding me, and panic tightens my throat.

He is dead. He is dead, and it is all my fault. How could I have been so stupid? I _knew _something terrible was going to happen, but my own selfish self took him outside anyway. I knew _something_ was going to happen.

I sigh and lay back onto my pillow.

I notice a flicker of light at the end of the rows of beds, and my brain automatically thinks Potter. But Potter's dead. However, my curiosity compels me to keep watching the light as it bobs up and down and grows larger as it comes closer to me.

I can see a silhouette walking at a steady pace toward me. It is only about three feet away from me when I suddenly realize who it is. Potter. But he's dead. Isn't he?

"Severus," he hisses as he nears. His voice is low. And angered. "What the hell happened to you? I know you enjoy watching me, but couldn't you tell I was dying?"

I groan. "I couldn't move, Harry. I tried, but the Dark Lord had me pinned into place," I explain to the boy, hoping he will believe me. The look on his face says nothing. His mask is up. I must have really screwed up for him to put that thing up in front of me again.

"How the hell would Voldemort have known where you were? And how the fuck would he have cursed you?" Potter's voice says all his face doesn't. He is pissed off.

"The Mark Harry. He used the Mark," I said, my voice coming out much fainter than I would have expected. "It doesn't just call Death Eaters. It also gives Him a telepathic link with us. Usually, my Occlumency keeps him out, but I…I must have let my guard down."

"But…" Potter wants to be angry with me. I can just tell. "But why? Why would he try and kill me? I'm just your student."

Just my student? How the fuck am I going to explain to him I've fallen in love with him? "Harry," I look at him with imploring eyes, "Is that really what you think of our relationship? Just your average teacher-student thing?"

His mask falls out of place for a brief moment. I see confusion fill the scarred face of the young boy. "Well, I mean, what else is it?" he finally asks. I cannot tell whether or not he really is that dense, or if he is only acting to confuse me.

"Think about it Harry. If this were only a teacher-student relationship, would you be here right now? If this were only a teacher-student relationship, would I be allowing you to sleep in the same bed with me? And if this were only a teacher-student relationship," I lower my voice, "Would we have kissed?"

The boy is contemplating what I have just laid out for him. "Y-You're right," he sounds defeated. "This _isn't_ only a teacher-student relationship. I-It's so much more than that." His voice is so low, it is almost inaudible.

I can only nod my head at the obviousness of what he just said. Of course this is more than me merely teaching him something. What kind of a teacher kisses his student? Other than a pedophile…

"I'm sorry Harry," I tell him, not quite sure what exactly I am supposed to be saying. I have never been in one of these situations.

"Don't be sorry about being in love Severus," he whispers to me. "It may be wrong to everyone else, but to me, it is perfectly right."

"Thanks Harry, but what do you mean it is perfectly right with you?" I ask, a little confused. I mean, I know his vulnerability caused him to try and get me to sleep with him, but he can't possibly love me back. Can he?

"I mean, you make me feel whole again," he explains, taking a seat next to me on the bed. "If it was not for you, I would have killed myself weeks ago. Hell, I would have killed myself years ago. I was determined to excel in your class, even though my distractions caused me to utterly fail. After snogging with Cho last year, I realized I was gay. But what was worse was that I was so afraid to tell anyone that I began to distance myself from them. People began to forget who I was as a person and only thought of me as Harry Potter-the Boy Who Fucking Lived. Ron and Hermione were too preoccupied with each other half the time, and the other half we were running from certain death. I felt alone and forgotten and unwanted until I came back here this summer. You made me feel wanted again. I'll admit, at first, I was just toying with you, but after the drinking game, I realized I had a lot more in common with you than I realized. Then, today, when you left me bleeding to death, I felt unwanted again. I felt so angry inside that I could have killed you had I not already been dying. I was about to Avada you for just standing there and watching me die, but I blacked out before I had the chance."

Fear gripped my throat again. He wanted me dead? What the hell? He says he likes me, but that he wants me dead? Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this picture?

"Wait-so what are you saying Harry?" I ask, completely confused. I also have a pounding headache at the moment. It just started for absolutely no reason.

"What am I saying? Severus, I'm saying, oh to Hell with it," he mutters. Suddenly, soft, warm lips are touching mine. A tongue invades my mouth and explores the familiar crevasses. At first, I am shocked, but soon I am gliding my tongue along the familiar routes of Potter's mouth. Every crooked tooth, every cavity, every sharp edge.

He pulls away. His wand had gone out, so I cannot see anything. But I do not care. I can still taste his lips. Sweet. Like grapes or some other fruit. I am actually glad he cannot see me either, for if he could, I am sure he would laugh at my look of utter satisfaction.

"Do you understand me now?" he asks, a hint of humor in his voice. I am almost certain he is refraining from laughing.

"Yes, I believe I understand completely," I tell him. We both laugh at that.

"Listen, Severus, maybe we should reintroduce ourselves," he suggests. "You know, to get to know each other a little better."

"Alright, I think I can do that. How about you start?" I am suddenly nervous. Apparently, he does not remember much about that night not too long ago when I got him completely wasted.

"Alright," he says, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "My name is Harry James Potter. I am fifteen years of age and will turn sixteen on July thirty-first, which is in one day. My favorite color is blue. My mother was Lily Evans before she married my father, James Potter, and took on his name. Everyone says I look exactly like my father, but that I have my mother's eyes. I am a homosexual and proud of it. I have attempted suicide seventeen times in my life, each time being 'saved' before I could actually die. I seek comfort in alcohol when it is available, but I am not an alcoholic. I am still a virgin, and I would like to experience sex whenever the time is right. My favorite subject in school is Potions, even though I am terrible at it. My least favorite subject is Divination." I assume he is finished.

I mimic his deep breath. I let it out much slower than he did however. "My name is Severus Snape. I am thirty-eight years of age and will turn thirty-nine January ninth. My favorite color is Emerald. My mother was Gaida Masers before she married my father, Michaelus Snape, and took on his name. I look nothing like my parents, but more like my grandfather, Ericus Snape. I am also a homosexual and proud of it. I have attempted suicide thirty-three times, mostly before I turned sixteen. I am a complete alcoholic, but I deny it in front of others. I have only been in love once before. His name was Nicholas, and he was who I lost my virginity to. While I was in school, my favorite subject was Potions, while my least favorite subject was Transfiguration."

I feel his body lay back on the bed, and I scoot over to allow him room to lay by my side. He gives me one last kiss goodnight before closing his eyes and falling asleep. I bury my head into his shoulder and I am soon asleep as well.

I just hope Poppy doesn't walk in on us in such a compromising position.


	7. Great Balls of Fire

**A/N: I am extremely pleased with the wonderful reviews I have been receiving from my lovely reviewers. I am so sorry that I have not posted this chapter sooner, but I had my midterms to deal with. That, plus teachers who seem to think giving us five pages of homework every night from six classes (NOT exaggerating) will improve our chances of passing the tremendously difficult tests they seem so keen on giving us every other day. Stupid teachers. Anyway, ****I know my last chapter was…confusing to say the least. For that, I apologize. However, this one should be a little more straight-forward. I hope.**

Great Balls of Fire

OoO

I awake the next morning expecting to find Potter laying there next to me. However, he is not there, and it concerns me. Was I too blunt with him last night? Perhaps I could have been a little more modest about my past life. Would it have done me any good? I mean, I know I can come on a little strong sometimes, but it's not my fault I've let myself fall in love again (Even though I promised myself it would never happen again).

I sit up and take a long peer outside. The sky is a brilliant shade of blue. Too happy if you ask me. The sun is blazing. Butterflies and other worthless insects fly or crawl around on the grass that was just covered a few weeks ago in Death Eaters' blood. How stupid such pathetic animals are.

I sigh. Why is this so difficult? Why must Potter cause me such misery? Seriously, what have I done to deserve this? I only treated him like shit his whole life because I had to. And because I hated James. And because I was so pissed off at myself for letting Lily die. However, that is not that bad.

So why would Potter feel the need to abruptly desert me on such a beautiful day? It is not as if there was a major battle while I was sleeping in a rather unconscious state. Was there? Today is just your average Wednesday in the average month of July, which will be over after today. What is so important about July 31? It just does not make sense.

Only then do I notice the folded in half piece of parchment on my bedside table with my name scrawled across the front in barely legible handwriting. I pick up the letter gingerly, for I fear what its words may hold. I open the letter with slightly shaky hands. I have to read it a few times to fully comprehend what it is I am reading.

_Dear Severus,_

_I have no doubt in my mind that you have already realized that today is my birthday. Or, rather, my deathday, as the case may be. However, I would like to explain to you exactly what is going on. As you know, the ghosts of my parents visited me a few days ago, telling me that I was to be dead by the end of the day. __I have left in hopes of surviving through the night. If I make it through this day and this night without dying, I shall see you in the morning. Please do not be mad at me for leaving, I simply do not wish you to witness my death, if that is what awaits me._

_Love,_

_Harry_

I swear I am going to kill that child if he is not killed by other means tonight. He should not be this fucking stupid! How the hell is he supposed to survive without help? He is not going to be the Boy Who Fucking Lived if he keeps this bullshit up. He doesn't really think he can survive on his own does he? I knew he was an ignoramus. Now I have to waste such a wonderful day searching for the moronic imbecile. So fucking fantastic.

Sighing, I drag myself away from the bed and out the door. I make sure my wand is in my pocket. While searching my hand brushes against something cold and hard. It was not there the night before. What is it? I take it out carefully. Upon seeing it, my heart nearly stops. In my hand is a small stone heart. There is a chain attached. Inscribed on the back are three simple words. _I love you_My heart stops. I swear it does. I carefully place the necklace around my neck and set off for the grounds.

I have a strange sensation in my stomach as I walk. It's almost as if the necklace has caused me to feel happier. Even lighter. It is a very strange feeling indeed.

I feel as if I am gliding down the steps to the grounds as I descend. A strange feeling takes over a spot in my heart. Concern? No. Concern feels slightly different than this. This is related to concern, but it isn't concern. Fear? No. Fear isn't so easy to breathe through. So what the hell is it?

Sighing, I open the doors to the grounds and glide over the smooth steps to the rugged Earth. I cannot believe the beauty of the day. Such an awful day has no right to be beautiful.

That is when I notice it. A small flicker of movement off to the right side of the castle. It is almost too small a movement to see. Almost. I set off toward the flicker at a pace just short of running. By the time I reach the side of the castle however, whoever or whatever caused the movement is gone.

Walking along the castle's side, I notice (rather I _trip over_) a cloak on the ground. I pick it up cautiously. When I do, my hand disappears. Potter. He _was_ here. And he left his damned invisibility cloak behind. How stupid of him to think I would not notice it lying on the ground.

I quicken my search because my head tells me to. I am afraid. And concerned. And worried. And any other negative emotion you can possibly think of. Potter _doesn't_ want to be alone today. If he did, he would not have left his cloak behind where he knew I would find it. So why the hell is he running away from me?

I finally spot him sitting on the ground in the very back of the castle. His back is pressed against the stone and he looks scared. Of course he is scared. He is supposed to die today. What person would not be afraid of death?

I walk over to him slowly. Sitting down next to him, I look over. Only now do I notice the tears trailing from those Emerald eyes I have stared into for so many years. He looks lost, confused, and genuinely frightened. My heart aches for this child who has been forced to grow up far before his time. Gently, I wipe the falling tears from his cheeks.

His gaze shifts to me. "W-Why did you come f-find me?" he asked, more tears slipping from their cage. I swallow. Why did I come? I came to make sure he was all right. I came because he is the only person who matters enough in my life to care about whether they die or not. I came because I _love_ him.

"I came because I lo-I care about you, Harry," I tell him in a gentle whisper. I am such a coward. I cannot even tell the one person I truly love that I love him. I cannot even utter the word around him. I should be hung for my cowardice.

"Y-You love me?" the boy asked. Great. Now what do I say? Yes? No? Maybe? I don't know what to do. I sigh inwardly at my stupidity. Finally, I settle for the truth.

"Yes," I say simply. I am not sure he can hear me, for I can barely hear myself, but I said the word nonetheless. I get points for trying.

Suddenly, Potter wraps me in his arms. I feel warmth spreading to every spot in my body. His touch brings content into my heart. I can feel my shields and barriers fall away into nothing. Why is it this boy can bring me a feeling no other man (or woman) has ever been able to bring me? He brings me feelings I never thought I could feel. And yet, I am still afraid to admit to him that I love him. Maybe there is more wrong with me than I thought.

I return the hug. When I do, Potter snuggles in close to my chest. We let our arms fall to our sides and Potter shifts his position so the back of his head is now resting against my collarbone. I am not sure how long we sit in that position, but after what seems like hours, I decide to glance upward. And thank whatever deity you please that I did.

Swarming around the castle in a number too large to be possible are dementors. Dementors and Death Eaters that is. Wait, we killed almost every Death Eater in the artillery in that first battle. Where the hell did He get this many? My heart quickens as the group descends rapidly on our location.

I grab Potter's hand, drag him to his feet and run. I sprint to the edge of the grounds. I can see the clearing. If I can only get to it and Apparate us away from here, he'll be safe. I can feel the coldness start. My legs start to slow, but I force myself to continue. I am practically dragging Potter now. I reach the gate and Apparate just before a skeletal hand grabs at Potter.

I am not sure where we are going. All I know is it has to be somewhere He will never look. Imagine my surprise when we arrive at Malfoy Manor.

I carry an unconscious Potter into the Manor with great difficulty. My legs already feel like lead from running so much. I have to charm the door open with a nonverbal so I do not drop the boy. For such a small boy, he sure weighs a lot.

Setting him down on the closest surface, I collapse next to him. After a few minutes, I drift into a dreamless sleep.

I wake up after what seems like mere seconds, but must have been a lot longer, for my legs had feeling in them. Potter is sitting up and staring at me, which, in itself is rather disturbing.

"Severus?" His voice is small. Way too small.

I nod. I am not quite sure what I am supposed to do. So I nod.

"W-Where are we?" he sounds more frightened than I would have ever thought possible. His beautiful Emerald eyes are filled with nothing more than fear and terror.

"We are at Malfoy Manor," I explain. I do not understand why he is so terrified. He is safe now, so what is wrong?

"B-But where are the d-dementors?" he asks, glancing around nervously.

"I Apparated us away from the battle. Do not worry. The dementors will never look here. Remember? You killed the Malfoys. A long time ago," I try my hardest to explain the situation to Potter without causing him to have a mental breakdown.

I see a lone tear slip from one of those ever captivating eyes of his. I move to wipe it away, but he pushes my hand away with a force he's never used with me.

"Stay away from me," he says quietly, another tear breaking through his barrier.

"Stay away from you?" I ask, confused. "Why?"

"Just stay away from me!" He yells angrily.

What the hell just happened? I look him square in the eyes and ask my next question with a slight hesitant,

"Harry, what's wrong?"

He glares at me as if I am the reason for all his problems. I'm not am I? "You," he tells me in a barely audible voice. "You screwed everything up for me. If it wasn't for you, I'd be fucking dead and everything would be perfect. But no. You just _had_ to step in and make me fall in love with you. Who the hell do you think you are?"

It takes every nerve in my body not to say something I will regret later. I decide on something a little less dramatic than I want to say.

"I didn't _make_ you fall in love with me, Potter. You accomplished that task all by yourself. Do _not_ go blaming me for your fucking problems. I did not tell you to go outside this morning so you would die. In fact, I awoke to an empty spot beside me. You had me worried out of my mind. But do you care? No. Of _course_ you don't care. You don't care about anyone other than your bloody self do you?"

The shock he is feeling is clearly worn on his face. Potter never was good at hiding his feelings. Serves the asshole right. He does not seem capable of forming words. His mouth opens several times, but no words escape. It is as if the words are locked in a safe and Potter cannot seem to get the right combination.

Finally, the Boy Wonder speaks.

"Listen Snape," he starts angrily. The sound of my surname escaping his lips causes a piercing pain to shoot through my entire body. "All I want is to die. All I want is to get away from this hellhole. I've been the Boy Who Lived for my entire life. I am tired of the fucking charade. My parents didn't give a rat's ass about me. All they cared about was becoming famous. Becoming unintentional martyrs sure helped them there. Fuck them. Fuck them and anyone else they chose to associate with while they were living."

I am not sure I comprehend what just came out of this boy's mouth. Did he just say he wanted to die? Did he just say he hated his parents? What the hell happened while I was asleep?

"Listen Harry, your parents loved you more than anything," I try and reason with him. "And I love you more than I love anything else in this world. Please. If you leave, I'll be left with little more than my own pathetic self. You know how pointless it is for me to live. Harry, I am begging you. Snap out of it."

I am not sure the message reached his brain through that thick barrier of skin. However, after a few silent moments, Potter finally decides to acknowledge the fact that I did indeed say something. He looks dumbstruck, which I would never have thought would have been an emotion he had occupying his body.

"If you love me, then why did you bring me here?" he asks quietly.

"I did not mean to. I simply thought of a place they would never look. I suppose they would not look in such an obvious location for us. They assume we are running from them, but we are not." Explaining to Potter what I actually have on my mind would be pointless. I have no doubt in my brain that he would not understand a word of what I am actually thinking.

"You know the hell the former owners of this place caused me. Why couldn't you apparate us to Grimmauld Place?" he sounds scared. And completely pissed off.

"I could not do that. They expect us to go to Grimmauld Place. Granted, they'll never be able to get inside, but still. That is the first place they intend on looking. Listen Harry," I place my hands on his shoulders. "I love you more than you could ever imagine. If I thought for even a minute that they would look here, we would be somewhere else. All I am asking is that you please trust me."

"If you are setting me up Severus, I swear I'll kill you without a second thought," he tells me quietly. He sounds slightly evil if you ask me. But completely sincere nonetheless.

I nod my head and pull the boy into a long, passionate kiss. He is surprised at first, but he gradually kisses back. I find myself exploring the all too familiar crevices of his mouth as if I had never done so before. It is rather exhilarating. To know that I make this enigma of a boy completely crumble at the touch of my hand. It feels fantastic. And at the same time, it feels terrible. I feel as if I am taking advantage of a boy who cannot defend himself.

The kiss ends too soon in my opinion. I sit there, staring into Potter's eyes wanting more than he is willing to give me at the moment. He knows I want more; I can see it in his eyes. But he also knows how to control me. He knows how to keep me guessing. Which, in itself scares the hell out of me.

He takes my hand in his and lays his head on my chest. I feel the familiar sense of comfort as his jungle of hair lands right below my chin. I feel so at peace when I am with Potter. Our argument from just a few minutes ago seems as if it happened years before. It seems so trivial as I sit here holding his hand. I can smell the coconut conditioner he used last night. It is another comforting aspect of this boy.

He is gently gliding his free hand up and down my thigh. I can feel myself getting excited, but I do not act on the sensation. I prefer the innocence of this over the act of taking his virginity. Feeling as if I should return the feeling, I start to kiss his neck. He obviously likes the sensation, for in less than a minute, a nearly inaudible moan escapes his lips. I continue the kissing until a very noticeable red mark has made its home on his neck.

His body tenses slightly as I lay my head back against the back of the couch. He continues his gliding up and down my thigh, which I do not complain about. If only we could remain like this forever. But no. A sound from the direction of the door alerts me to the fact that my love life with Potter is just going to have to wait. And of course they have to walk in on us.

I swear I am going to give Granger and Weasley detention for a month for staring at Potter and me like that.


	8. Unscheduled Romance

**A/N: Acck! It's been two months, I know. I am truly sorry for the wait, but I could not help it. My parents grounded me. So, here's the next installment of my story. I hope you guys enjoy it! :)**

**A/N: This excludes all events associated with HBP and DH.**

Unscheduled Romance

OoO

The only comfort I receive during this startling encounter is the fact that Potter does not remove his hand. I will admit that I assumed he would.

"What the hell is going on here?" Weasley demands.

"Nothing, Ron. Just shut up," Harry commands.

"Nothing? What do you call this?" he demands, indicating with his hands our current position.

"I call it two people sitting on a couch," Potter says to him coldly. "If you are fantasizing about something other than that, then that is your problem, not mine."

"Harry," Granger starts, a blush creeping up her neck. "You were letting him snog your neck."

"What's your point?" Potter asks as if what he and I were doing was completely normal.

"Listen Harry," Weasley starts, "If you want to have a relationship with a bloke, that's fine. But you could at least tell your _best friends_ the truth about it."

"Fair enough," Potter declares quietly. He glances at me, then at them, then back at me. I give him a half-nod to let him know I have no problem with him telling the two about us.

"Alright you two. Severus and I are seeing each other," he states, staring deeply into each of their eyes.

Neither says a word, but both look as if they are going to faint. I can't help but smirk inwardly at the sight.

"So what now?" Weasley asks, swallowing hard.

"Well, we do need a plan. I mean, I can't take on hordes of dementors alone. I'll need your help with that. And the Death Eaters we'll face won't be as powerful as the ones we're used to, so those will probably be easy enough. After that, we'll have to play it by ear," Potter explains.

We all nod our heads in agreement and Granger and Weasley leave the house to wait for us outside.

"You know," Potter says, staring into my eyes, "I could die."

"I know," I tell him softly. "As could I."

We remained locked in each other's gaze for several minutes before he did anything. Finally, he leaned over and kissed me ever so gently. I could feel myself getting excited, but I controlled myself.

We stand and stroll out of the mansion. The four of us apparate to just outside the castle's grounds, wands ready. We are confronted by a horde of dementors as soon as we land.

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM_!" The four of us shout in unison. Four sliver animals erupt from the tips of our wands and send the dementors away. Once the dementors had cleared, we see a group of about thirty amateur Death Eaters standing directly in our path.

"_Cruciatus_!" I shout, aiming the curse at the first man I see. He crumbles to the ground in a quick motion.

"We don't have time for that Severus!" Potter hisses at me as he dodges several curses. "_Avada Kedavra_!" he shouts, the curse wildly flying toward my crippled Death Eater. His body lays there lifeless and motionless as Potter uses the curse several more times.

I shake my head to clear it, then continue with the murdering.



I kill at least ten of the Death Eaters, but Potter kills twice as many. He is truly relentless in his battle against those who wish him dead.

Finally, the Death Eaters are all dead, and we are safe for now. Hopefully, life will stay that way for a while.

The weeks until the start of term pass quickly and without problem. The first night back however, I am faced with issues of mere stupidity.

At the Opening Feast, Potter decides he is not going to show up. Of course, Albus and Minerva are freaking out. They send me to look for him, which I would normally object to, but seeing as current circumstances are what they are, I agree.

I start my search on the seventh floor. When I do not find anything, I go to the sixth floor. When that fails, the fifth, etc. During my search of the halls, I find a total of three couples snogging, one person reading a book of spells, one child brewing a potion of some sort (It smelled like a love potion, so I high-tailed it out of there as fast as possible), and a boy about to 'accidentally' walk into the girls' room. The worst part is that I handed out a grand total of zero detentions.

I finally find Potter strung out under a tree. He looks as if he has been crying for the better part of an hour, so I sit down next to him softly. He does not acknowledge my presence, but I speak to him anyway.

"What's wrong, Harry?" I ask him softly.

He looks up at me with tear-filled eyes. He forces a smile for my benefit and replies,

"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine."

"Liar," I say to him, turning away. Why can he not confide in me the things that go on inside that brain of his? It seems as if he does not want me to know.

"Severus," he whispers, putting a hand on my shoulder. I turn to face him at the sound of my name. He has pulled himself into a sitting position and is facing me.

"What?" I ask, not really wanting to talk.

"It's just," he pauses, inhaling. He thinks about something before continuing. "I can't face them."

"Face who?" I ask. "The children?"

He nods.

"They don't matter Harry. They have no idea what you have been through, nor could they. If they say anything about Diggory, look them in the eye and tell them to fuck off." I am being completely serious with him.

He snorts. "Now is that anyway their hero should speak to them?" He asks sarcastically. "But seriously, I can't face them. Especially not Cho. And what about us?"

I look him straight in the eye, ignoring the sensation between my legs. "Harry," I whisper to him, "They will get over this whole thing with the Dark Lord. And when they do, they'll all be begging for your forgiveness." I gently run a finger down his warm face. "And nobody will ever find out about _us_. We'll be very discreet about it. Don't worry."

"But I don't want to be discreet. Why do I have to keep my love life a secret?" He sounds upset.

"Because Harry," I explain, taking his hand in mine, "If anyone were to find out, I would be out of a job. Plus, this way, they won't fuck with you because of it."

"Okay," he sighs. "But what about Malfoy?"

"What about him?" I ask.

"Well, surely someone knows what I did to the bastard," he says, slight fear in his voice.



"Oh, well, I am certain nobody will comment. And if they do, just ignore them. They have no idea what he did to your family," I assure him. My certainty may be false, but at least it will calm him down.

He half-nods, as if to say, "I know you're wrong, but I'll play along anyway."

I stand and offer him my hand. He takes it and stands. I let go of his hand and we walk into the Great Hall together. He takes his seat at the Gryffindor table, and I take mine at the Staff table.

Dumbledore finally starts with his speech.

"Boys and girls, it is the start of yet another year here at Hogwarts. For some of you, this speech is a mere formality, but for others it is a guide of sorts. My first item would be to remind everyone that the forest is forbidden to all unless they wish to die a most painful and gruesome death. Secondly, we have yet another new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I assure you that she is completely competent and suited for the job. She is ready to teach you all a hands-on approach of defense. Please give a warm welcome to Ms. Defenbird," he pauses as the Hall erupts in applause and a mousy woman stands. She sits as soon as the students are finished applauding. "Lastly, students are to be reminded that they are not to be seen after curfew. If you are caught out of bed after hours, it is up to the discretion of the teacher, prefect or Head that catches you as to what your punishment is. If you have any questions, ask your Head of House." He smiles. "Let the Feast begin."

With that, mounds of food appear on the tables. I personally take a simple baked potato and some plain spaghetti. I also pour myself a glass of firewhisky. This earns a strange glance from Minerva. Damn, the woman never could keep her nose out of everyone else's business. I return her glance with a look that says, "Stay the fuck out of my life." She quickly turns her head back to her food and I continue my dinner.

After dinner, I walk silently to my quarters. All I want to do is lie down and go to bed.

However, upon opening my door, I see a pair of faces that I really do not wish to see. I sigh inwardly.

"Granger, Weasley, what the hell are you doing in my quarters?" I demand.

"Professor," Granger starts. "We want to talk to you about Harry."

Of course they do.

"Yeah," Weasley agrees, his ears reddening. "For starters, what kind of sick game are you playing?"

"I have no idea what game you are speaking of, Mr. Weasley," I tell him, entering my room and closing the door behind me. I walk over to my counter and open a bottle of Firewhisky.

"Well," he continues. "What the hell were you and Harry doing at Malfoy Manor?" He demands.

"We were hiding from the horde of foes trying to assassinate us," I answer, pouring me a glass. I close the bottle and sip my beverage.

"Bull," Granger retorts. "His hand was on your thigh."

"Was it?" I ask. "I hadn't noticed." I hope the sarcasm is not very obvious.

"You realize that's pedophilia, right?" she asks in disbelief.

"Yes," I respond, downing the rest of my drink and pouring myself another.

"So you know you could lose your job because of it," she continues.

"Ms. Granger, I am well-aware of the policies between student-teacher relationships, as well as their consequences. I might be concerned of such a thing if Mr. Potter and I were pursuing a relationship on an intimate level, but seeing as we are not, it does not really have anything to do with me," I explain to her.

"So best friends just start rubbing each other's thigh for no reason?" Weasley says, annoyed.

"You are," I tell him, finishing off my fourth glass.

His face reddens faster than I have ever seen a face redden before. I smirk inwardly. "Now, if you two don't mind, get the fuck out of my room before I have you in detention for the remainder of the year," I tell them, opening the door.

They exit quickly.

Finally alone, I down the rest of the bottle and pass out on my bed.

The next morning I have to deal with sixth year Double Potions with Slytherin and Potter.

Fuck.

The entire class period, I have to deal with glares from Granger and Weasley, annoying stupidity from Parkinson, and lust filled glances from Potter. It's all I have to maintain my constant sneer and nasty demeanor.

"Professor?" It's Potter.

"What, Potter?" I ask, faking annoyance.

I see a small smirk on his face from my desk. "Your recipe for the Long Life Elixir is wrong."

My head snaps up. Did he just say what I think he said? "Excuse me, Potter?" I demand. I don't care if we're seeing each other, where the fuck does he get off correcting me in front of the entire class?

"Well Professor," he continues with that stupid fucking smirk, "You have it written that we need to place minced bramblewood in immediately after the diced garlic clove. However, the garlic clove is supposed to be chopped, not diced, and the bramblewood is supposed to be cubed, not minced. If we dice the garlic and mince the bramblewood, we will succeed in brewing the Elixir of Death, not the Long Life Elixir."

Holy fuck. The little bastard is correct. "Well Mr. Potter, nicely spotted," I mumble. "The rest of you Neanderthals should pay more attention to what you're doing."

I flick my wand and correct the directions.

Every time I glance up to take a mental inventory of the students, I catch Potter looking at me. Normally, I would love this. And I will admit that a specific part of me still loves it. However, I cannot allow any of the students to see how he is ogling me. Not if I wish to keep me job.

I sigh and decide to speak to him about it later.

When the period ends, I tell Potter to meet me in my office after classes today.

Once I finish with my last class of the day, I retreat to my office to await Potter's arrival. I have to wait at least twenty minutes before he finally shows up.

"You wanted to see me Severus?" he says innocently with a coy smirk.

"Yes, Harry. I need you to stop staring at me during class," I inform him.

His smirk remains, widens even. "You know you like it," he says teasingly.

"Yes, well, even though I may enjoy it, you still need to refrain from doing it so often. Someone will notice, and you know what could happen then," I say to him, shifting slightly in my seat. I must control myself.

"Since when do you have any fucking morals?" he asks. I love it when he gets angry.

"I-I have always had morals," I tell him, trying to ignore the sensation my member is causing me. Granted, it is a very pleasant sensation, but still.

He must have noticed my slight squirming. "Yeah, and I'm a fucking elephant," he says, the anger mixed with a hint of seduction.

"Well, I can't say I'd enjoy you much if you were to transfigure into an elephant," I smirk.

"Oh, so you enjoy me now, do you?" He smirks lustfully.

"Well, not like that," I say quickly. Dammit! Why is he doing this?

"Like what Severus?" he says slowly, standing. He inches toward my desk, swaying with every step. I can feel the sensation grow into a strong urge. I manage to control myself for the most part however.

"Well, in an intimate manner," I explain quickly, feeling the sweat on my forehead.

"Intimate?" He asks softly, coming up to the side of my desk. He straddles my legs and seats himself on my lap. This excites my member even more, causing the excitement to become noticeable at his close proximity.

I nod and swallow hard, praying to the nonexistent deities that Potter does not notice.

He leans forward and catches me in a forceful kiss that I cannot get out of. I kiss back in the hopes that he will stop at that.

I am not that lucky.

Potter moves from my mouth to my neck. He begins kissing a very tender spot on my neck, causing me to let out a soft groan. I can feel him smiling as he continues kissing that spot. He starts to suck and bite along with the kissing, causing a louder, more noticeable groan to escape my throat. As he continues with that spot, his left hand wanders to my nether regions. He presses his hand against my now very noticeably hard member and squeezes. I want to tell him to stop, but my voice has left me. The only noises that will leave my throat are the groans that keep coming and getting louder every time they do.

I finally manage to breathlessly get out that we cannot do this hear. If somebody were to walk in at any moment, they would catch us in a more than compromising position.

He reluctantly complies.

"Severus," he grins seductively. "I will be in your room. Meet me there in twenty minutes."

It was not a request, but a command. He leaves my office before I even give him a response. I sigh as the door closes. I can feel my throbbing member begging for release, but I refuse to give. The one thing involving sex that I will never do is masturbate.

How the hell do you tell your lover that you don't want to make love to them? Well, not that you don't want to, just that you aren't comfortable in doing so.

I sigh again and stand up. I glance down decide that I better wait that twenty minutes before I leave.

When I make it to my quarters, Potter is sitting on my couch wearing remarkably less than he had been previously. The only clothing I can see on his perfectly sculpted body is his skin-tight black boxers (Which look great against the bronze of his skin). He is obviously excited to see me, to say the least.

I remove my robe and place it on the coat hanger (Yes I have a fucking coat hanger). I take a shaky breath and try to keep myself under control. While I remove the majority of my clothing, Potter is warding my quarters. A rather stupid thing to do, seeing as it is constantly warded. Once he is finished, the only clothing remaining on my body would be my undergarments, my pants, and my shirt.

This display is obviously amusing to him somehow. He grins and waltzes right up to me. He grabs the collar of my shirt and begins to unbutton it slowly, staring into my eyes all the while. I hate his eyes. They always excite me, no matter what mood I am in. Fuck his eyes.

Before I know it, my shirt is on the ground and he is unzipping my pants. He can see the discomfort in my face, so he starts to kiss that magical spot again. His hands are still at my pants, and he can feel what his kissing is accomplishing. He stops his kissing briefly to tear my pants off.

So we were standing there in our underwear while Potter continued his attempt to devour that spot on my neck. Feeling useless, I decided to do something. I grabbed his hair and pulled it in such a way that I knew excited many. It must have worked because a groan escaped his throat.

A sudden idea burst into my head. Why the hell was I letting him dominate me? Dominance was what I excelled at.

Sorry Potter, but you are about to get the most painful, exciting, stimulating night of your life.


	9. Shouting Matches

**A/N: I have been waiting to write this chapter for some time now. But, I must warn you, it will be detailed. However, I terribly dislike smut, so it won't be as detailed as most other stories. And by the way, the whole chapter isn't about their sex. Only a few parts. :)**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I thought you guys had stopped reading. :)**

Shouting Matches

OoO

Potter was still working that spot on my neck, but I had other plans for him.

I grab his hair again and tug (harder than the first time). He moans with pleasure. I tackle him to the ground and he looks up at me with shock. I smirk down at him and begin my 'expedition'.

I start with his lips. I ravage him like a ravenous animal. He tastes oh-so-sweet. I move from his lips to his neck, making sure I bite him here and there. He will remember this night.

His slight moans prove that he definitely enjoys this. I move my lips from his neck down to the small of his stomach. There is a spot right above his belly button that allows a nearly ear-splitting groan to escape his throat. I continue to nibble and suck at the spot until he starts bucking his hips. I smirk at him and notice the desperation in his eyes.

The look makes my stomach turn.

I try to put the feeling aside, but I just cannot. He must have noticed because he sits up. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close to him.

"What's wrong?" he asks breathlessly. His face shows mostly concern, but a lot of anger along with it.

I shake my head, unable to form words. How do I tell him that I cannot make love to him because my conscience will not let me? How do I explain to him that I cannot get an erection because he is only sixteen? How do I inform him of my anti-pedophiliac status when it comes to my morals?

"Severus, there is something wrong," he tells me forcefully.

I shake my head again. It's all I _can_ do.

Potter lets go of me and pushes me off of him. "What the fuck is your problem?" he demands.

I look him in the eye and give a short, blunt answer. "I can't."

He looks furious for about a second, then his expression softens a bit. Not much, but enough to be noticeable.

"It's my age, isn't it?" he asks with as much bitter resentment as he should have with the Dark Lord, not with me.

"Harry, please, don't take this the wrong way," I beg. Fuck, he's making beg again. Dammit!

"How can I _not_?" he demands, standing up. Fury takes over his face and the mask he has not used with me since the day we killed the Elites falls back into place. "I'll see you in class tomorrow, _Professor_."

With that, he grabs his clothes and leaves my quarters.

I fucked up this time didn't I?

Sighing, I grab my new bottle of Vodka and unscrew the top. I sit there and chug the liquor until there is nothing left to chug. I can no longer see straight, so I stumble into a walking position and somehow make my way to my bed. I fall onto the mattress and begin to sob uncontrollably. Why the hell did I have to fuck things up with him? What the fuck is wrong with me? Everything was fucking fine back in my office, so what the fuck happened?

Realizing that I have probably lost him forever, I end up crying myself to sleep.

The next morning I awake to splitting headache. Though I can't remember much of what happened last night, I remember enough to know Potter and I are not on good terms.



I sit up and rub my eyes. I grab the vial of Hangover Cure from my nightstand and down it. I sit there for another five minutes before I move. When I do, it's to drag my half-naked self to the shower. I turn the water all the way up to the hottest setting the damn thing has.

I remove the boxers and step into the boiling water. It feels great. Burns like hell mind you, but at least it takes away the pain of knowing that Potter hates me.

I scrub away every ounce of dirt that plagues my skin. I even scrub my hair clean. I know this will not make up for the previous night, but it will make some sort of difference. I hope.

I endure the first three periods with agonizing difficulty. First I had third years, which I expect to be halfway competent (these ones aren't), then fifth years, who should be completely competent (these ones did not know the difference between diced and chopped), and lastly first years, who were actually more competent than the third years (even though one of them blew up half the classroom). And as luck would have it, I have Gryffindor sixth years in my next period.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck fuck.

Potter and his cronies walk in together. He doesn't look at me at all, but they glare at me from the moment they walk in to my classroom.

Did he tell them?

I clear my throat and the room is silenced.

With at least sixty pairs of eyes on me, I continue.

"Can anyone tell me the primary life-giving ingredient?" I ask in a toneless voice. I see no hands shoot up, not even Granger's.

"No one?" I sigh. "Fine, I'll just tell you group of-"

"It's bramblewood," comes a voice from the back of the room. I whip around and realize that Potter answered me.

"Correct," I say evenly, though I am actually a little surprised.

"Can anyone tell me why, if bramblewood is the primary life-giving ingredient, how, if cut the wrong way, it can also be the primary death-giving ingredient?" I ask.

"Its healing properties can only be released if it is cut a certain way and mixed with specific ingredients. Many people confuse the way to cut bramblewood and succeed in brewing a Death Potion rather than a Healing Potion, as you demonstrated yesterday," he pauses a minute before continuing. "It's something many people just _can't_ do."

"Very well Mr. Potter," I say, sighing inwardly.

I look around the classroom notice that Weasley is not here.

"Where has Mr. Weasley run off to?" I inquire, my tone rather apathetic.

"He's in the Hospital," Potter states simply. "He was _accidentally_ knocked off his broom during Quidditch practice this morning."

I sensed that the 'accident' had something to do with Potter.

"Very well. It's due to his own stupidity," I say, turning back to my chalkboard.

"Excuse me, _Professor_," Potter declares. "But it wasn't his stupidity that got him knocked off his broom. It was your fucking beater who shoved a bat into his gut and threw him onto the ground."

"Mr. Potter, I will have you know that vulgarity will not be tolerated by my students," I snap at him. As soon as I do, I regret it.

"Oh won't it?" he dares. "And what the fuck are you going to do to fucking stop me?"

"Detention Mr. Potter. One month," I say to him apathetically, turning toward him. What the hell am I doing?

"Is that the best you can fucking do?" he snorts. "My fucking grandmother could do better than that."

"Well Mr. Potter, I sincerely doubt that, seeing as your grandmother is dead," I retort. FUCK! Why am I so fucking stupid?

He gives me a bitter laugh. "You never were a man of fucking honor, were you Snape?"

The question is obviously rhetorical, but I feel compelled to answer nonetheless.

"Actually, Potter, there is more honor in my veins than there is in your entire body," I tell him quietly.

"Oh really? How do you come to that conclusion Snape?" he asks, mock interest in his voice. "I mean, you were a Death Eater, were you not? Did you not defy the Light side just get revenge on those who had mistreated you? And then, did you not decide that the chances of Voldemort ever winning this fucking war were minute, so you changed sides again?" he pauses a moment before continuing. "And what about Lucius? You sure as hell betrayed him didn't you?" No he fucking doesn't. "The old fuck and chuck huh?"

"Potter, my office after class," I say to him forcefully.

"What? Afraid to answer, so you change the subject?" he is glaring at me. "So not only are you dishonorable and disloyal, you're a fucking coward too."

I am about to answer when he continues.

"You know, alcohol does strange things to the mind," he says with a hint of secrecy in his voice. "It can make you forget most of what happened previous to drinking it, if you drink enough. But nothing can make you forget the things that hurt you the most. Not your fucking Vodka or your fucking potions." He pauses for a moment and says his next statement in a deathly quiet voice, "You are more fucked up than I ever imagined possible Snape. And you would do well to remember warnings when they are fucking given to you. Because most people may be forgiving, but sometimes you'll come across those who have been fucked throughout their entire life, and they don't just hand forgiveness out to whoever the fuck asks for it."

With that said, he stands and attempts to leave the classroom. I lock the door from the inside just as he is about to exit through it. I can feel the smirk on his face as he stands there with his hand resting on the doorknob.

"Finally grown the bollocks to say something eh?" he laughs bitterly.

"My office. _Now_," I command, leaving no room for objection.

He whips around and glares at me for a moment before marching into my office through the back door of the classroom.

I turn to the rest of the shell-shocked students and glare at them.

"Your assignment is on the board," I instruct them. "I expect it to be finished and perfected by time I get back."

I flick my wrist and instructions appear on the chalkboard. It is the potion I gave the first years earlier, so they had damn well better get it perfect.

I enter my office and slam the door shut. I proceed to ward to office and magically lock the door. Along with the most powerful silencing charm I know, I also through in some defensive spells as well.

"So?" I ask once I am finished.

"I said all I needed to say in the classroom," Potter tells me.

"Bullshit, Harry," I retort.

"What more is there to say?" he asks, glaring at me.

"Well, you could start by explaining to me what the fuck you thought you were doing in there," I nearly scream at him.

"Hmm, well, for starters, the man I fucking love couldn't even have sex with me," he yells back.



"You know why I couldn't," I defend myself.

"Yeah, some rubbish about my Goddamn age," he says angrily.

"Rubbish?" I exclaim. "How the fuck was that _rubbish_?"

"Because, if you find me that fucking repulsive, I'd rather you say it to my Goddamn face than cover your ass with some bullshit about how I'm too young!" he screams at me, getting in my face.

I slap him.

"You fucking idiot!" I scream at him. "If I thought you were anything other than completely beautiful, I would fucking _tell_ you!"

"Then why did my age suddenly fucking matter?" He shouted back.

"It wasn't _suddenly_, you Neanderthal!" I scream. "I've always been uncomfortable about your age," I practically whisper the last part.

He looks partially surprised at the last statement. "W-Why didn't you say anything then?" he asks quietly.

"Because Harry," I explain. "I don't usually think about it much. It's just that, last night, well, I-I couldn't do it. Just knowing I was about to bed you felt like I was about to _rape_ you. And I don't _ever_ want it to feel like that."

He inhales deeply and thinks about what I just said. "We can wait," he finally says. "Until you're ready." He sounds pretty upset but completely serious nonetheless.

"Thank you Harry," I smile at him. "I promise I'll try to get over this as soon as possible." I walk over and embrace him. I never want to let go of him, but I know that he and I have to get back out there. I let go after a few minutes and he and I exchange looks.

He stands on his tiptoes and brushes my lips with a kiss. Damn he has some soft lips.

We part and I open the door. He exits with a stony expression on his face, as do I.

Once we reach the classroom, he takes his seat. I stand at the front of the room to talk to the students.

"Class is dismissed. Leave your vials on my desk. Careful not to drop them, as they are explosive," I announce tonelessly, taking my seat at my desk. I do not look up at the children as they place their vials on my desk. However, when there is still the rustling of papers in the back of the classroom, I look up and see that Potter has remained for some reason.

"Anything I can help you with?" I offer, standing.

He has a smirk playing on his lips. I am not too sure about this.

"Well, you know, your office is still warded. We could finish that kiss," he says provocatively. "Not sex, just the kissing part."

I can't help but smirk at his continued attempts of getting to know me better, so to speak. He really should be in Slytherin.

"Alright, we could go into my office. But remember, we can do anything other than sex," I say to him in a very parent-like tone.

He smirks at me and walks toward me. He grabs my hand and drags me into my office, closing and magically locking the door.

"Don't worry," he says as he notices me eyeing the door. "That spell causes the door's lock to be completely impenetrable."

I smile and wrap my arms around his waist. I lean down and press my lips to his. His tongue enters my mouth and begins to explore each and every crevice to see if anything had changed. Once it had, it began to fight for dominance with my tongue. Of course I won, but that didn't stop Potter from continuing.



He began to bite my bottom lip, drawing some blood. He licked it up and went from biting my lips to biting my neck. I was genuinely surprised with his ferocity. I can't deny the fact that it was indeed pleasing, but it was still rather unsettling to see his fierceness. I wasn't about to start complaining though.

He made quite a large bruise on my neck before removing the upper half of my clothing. He began his expedition on my abdomen within seconds. The feel of his saliva on my skin and his teeth puncturing my epidermis was exciting the nether regions of my body. Not exciting enough for me to bed him; just enough to be noticed. He must have taken notice as well, for he began to act even more aggressively.

He tackles me to the ground and straddles those regions in which are being excited. He continues his feast on my body while sitting in between my legs. I feel more blood being drawn in places that it would normally hurt to have blood drawn from.

He kept sucking the blood from the wounds, which just made the experience more stimulating. His left hand wandered down to the place he was sitting and started to rub. It was having a minimal effect seeing as I was wearing clothes. Potter must have realized this, for he stuck his hand down my pants and my boxers to touch the bare skin of my growing member. All the while, he never missed a beat with his devouring my upper body.

I started to groan when he began rubbing my member just as hard as he was biting the rest of my body. How he knew I liked rough sex eludes me. However, no complaints pass my lips. He brings his mouth back up to mine, still squeezing the hell out of my member. He began to bite my tongue in synch with his squeezing. I let out a moan of ecstasy and he just kept going. Faster. Harder. Until I couldn't fucking breathe.

He didn't stop then either. I had to take extraordinarily shallow breaths through my nostrils just to keep from dying. He finally removed his hand and rolled off of me. My throbbing member protested at the loss of feeling.

I looked over at him. "What's wrong?" I asked breathlessly. "Why did you stop?"

He smirked at me. A coy smirk. A smirk that said, 'Haha. I got you turned on and now I'm just going to stop to let you know how it feels.'

"Well, we said we'd take it slower. Wait until you were ready. And there is not possible way you're ready already," he commented, glancing down at the bulge in my pants.

"Well, we weren't _actually_ having sex," I tried. "And plus, with you dominant, it doesn't feel so wrong."

"Yeah, but where's the fun in letting you get all the joy?" he asked, half laughing.

"It's just for now. Soon I'll be able to give it back. Just, not yet," I assured him.

Oh I was definitely going to Hell (If it existed) for what I was trying to do. Surely manipulating a child to fuck you is frowned upon by the deities.

"Sorry Severus, not tonight," he said with that smirk. "Maybe tomorrow will be better."

He stood and left me there with an erection just as he had yesterday. How the fuck does he do that?

Oh, mark my words Harry James Potter, you will not be smirking for long.


	10. Revelations

**A/N: Alright, this is the edited, sense-making, Chapter 10. New name and all. :) Anyway, I hope you guys especially like this one, seeing as it took me like two months to fix it AND update. Lol Thanks for still reading (if you are). **

Revelations

OoO

After last night's incident, I have realized something about myself. Which, personally, I think no man should have to do.

Anyway, I have realized that sex is not what I want from Potter. Sounds strange, but it's true. I don't want sex from him, which is why I can't have sex with him. Well, I guess I could, but I won't. Not yet anyway. But, what I _do_ want is something much more complex. I want him. All of him. I want to know every little detail about this boy that makes my heart hammer and my brain turn to mush. I want to know what makes him tick, what makes him laugh, where he's ticklish, his favorite movie, his favorite drink, _everything_.

And I need to tell him this. Soon.

I get up out of bed and trudge into the shower, dreading the feeling of cleanliness. After my shower, I dress in my normal robes and exit my bedroom, realizing that it's Wednesday. I have no classes on Wednesday. Haha, things are looking up after all.

I approach the Great Hall with caution, as it is buzzing with conversation from the students eating within its walls. I do not wish my good day to be ruined by dunderheads without enough common sense to sleep in on such a wonderfully, student-less day. Of course, it's not student-less for them, as they are students, but all the same, so far, it is a spectacular day.

As I walk to my seat at the Staff Table, I find my gaze wandering toward the Gryffindor Table. My eyes rest upon Potter. He still hasn't managed to learn how to use a hairbrush properly, but his emerald eyes more than make up for it. He is not staring back obviously, as that would make a scene. And we want to avoid making scenes. Scenes cause nothing but drama.

I sigh and take my seat, grabbing the pitcher of black coffee as I sit down. Minerva had been reaching for it as well, and she glares at me as I pour myself a cup. I smile as I place the pitcher back in its place and grab a few pieces of toast with jam.

I eat my breakfast in silence, even though noise is erupting all around me. Teachers absorbed in meaningless conversation about the most frivolous of things. Students laughing and cheering as if life was worth being happy about. Their worthless existence is one they all deserve.

After I finish my breakfast, I get up and stroll into my classroom. I may not have classes, but I do have 300 essays on Vampirism that I need to grade. On my desk sits the stack of poorly acquired essays. I sigh and take a seat. I bring out my quill and a bottle of red ink.

After grading at least thirty of them, I hear a knock on my door. Without looking up, I mindlessly call, "Come in." Looking back, perhaps that wasn't my greatest idea.

My door slams open to show a pale, sickly looking child. I don't recognize him, so I reach for my wand instinctively. However, he was quicker.

"Expelliaramus!" He shouts. My wand flies backward and lands across the room. The child moves in and I can now clearly see his face. I cannot place the boy with a name, however. Greasy strands of raven hair cover most of his face, and he is lanky.

"No wands," he says hoarsely. I recognize the voice, but I cannot remember why. "I come only to give a warning." He steps forward into the light of my classroom. I can recognize the coat he was wearing. It is one my grandmother had made me when I was still a schoolboy. So how did he acquire my coat?

He pushes the strands of hair away from his face to reveal ghostly glazed icy eyes. I know that face now. Even with the dead eyes, I know the face. And now I want to know how he's here, talking to me.

"My warning is a simple one," he begins. "Stay away from the boy. Stay away if you want to live. His days of battle are long from over and such an attachment would only cause you harm. Harm inflicted not by him, but by one much stronger than him. Leave him now, or you shall die in the coming battle."



After that last speech, the child vanished. Rather, he faded away. Still, he left me sitting here on my bed contemplating on what to do about Potter. In the end, I come to the only sensible conclusion. The child was a hallucination caused by a reaction to the new Sleeping Potion I'm taking.

I sigh and continue to grade the essays in silence. However, my mind is drifting so I just write D's on every essay. Oh well, it's not going to be a surprise to the students.

After a couple more hours, I notice a small piece of parchment lying on my desk. At first, I deemed it a note I had confiscated from a student. However, now I am not so sure. I grab the parchment and unfold it. In messy handwriting, I see scrawled words that are nearly illegible.

_**Sev-**_

_**I've gone to talk with Hagrid. If I'm not in by nine, come get me.**_

_**Love, **_

_**Harry**_

Ok, at least he let me know. But what could he possibly have to say to the oaf that he wouldn't be able to say to me? It does hurt slightly to know that Harry trusts Hagrid more than he trusts me. I mean, after all, we are a couple. Wait, we are? Did I just think that? Me?

Ok, something's wrong here. I never thought of us as a couple. I mean, I guess I should have, but I never did. I guess that in all technicality we _are_ a couple. A couple of blokes who regularly take part in intimate activities anyway. Hmm, maybe being a couple isn't so bad after all.

I grin to myself (which I rarely do, mind you) as I pull out a book. The hours slip by as I lose myself in Danielle Steel's Rogue. Soon, (or rather, not so soon), I realize that it's already eight-thirty.

I also realize that Potter still isn't back. And I really do need to speak with him tonight. Hmm, how strange. I decide to just go see Potter myself. I mean, the oaf's cabin isn't that far away after all. All I have to do is walk. So I do. I get up and start walking to the cabin.

A few minutes later, I arrive at his door. I knock and he is as startled as I assumed he'd be to see me.

"Professor Snape," he said, "What are yeh doin' here?"

"I am attempting to find Potter," I tell him flatly. "If he is here, I must know. I have urgent news to discuss with him that really can't wait."

"Sorry Snape, but he ain't here," the big baboon said apologetically.

"If you see him, direct him to my office," I ordered him before turning on my heels and proceeding to the castle. Where was he? Either he lied, or the oaf lied. Either way, I don't like being lied to. And one of them deceived me. Granted, it was probably Potter seeing as Hagrid is too stupid to think up a plan like that.

That brings up an even bigger and stranger question. Why would Potter lie to me? What is he doing that he needs to hide it from me? I actually can feel a pang of hurt somewhere inside of me where my heart is supposed to be. An odd sensation I'll admit, but a nice one nonetheless.

I sigh inwardly and approach the door to my quarters. I stop and think a moment. Then I turn around and enter my office. There, sitting on the couch (yes, I have a couch in my office), is the beautiful boy I am so relieved to see, but so pissed off at anyway.

"Why did you lie to me?" I ask him softly.

"I had to Sev. You wouldn't approve of where I was going," he explains dismissively.

"Well, where did you go?" I demand, taking a seat beside him.

"I went to meet with Zamber, the leader of the giants," he explains.

My heart nearly stops. "Leader of the giants? Why on Earth would you meet with him?"

"Sev, we're about to lose this war, whether you realize it or not. We need all the help we can get. Even with the Elites out of the picture, we still have hordes of vampires left and a whole crapload of werewolves. We need the giants' help," he says. "And they agreed."



"They agreed?" I ask, completely unable to keep the shock out of my voice. "But, aren't they His minions?"

Potter snorts. A very unattractive quality if you ask me. "Hardly. The only reason they ever sided with that oversized twit is because he promised not to slaughter them if they did. However, they seemed much more afraid of me than of him."

"And why would that be?" I ask, still confused.

"Because I didn't threaten to kill them at all. I threatened to make all of the men have…_problems_…with their entertainment organ," he says apathetically.

At that, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Problems?" The grin on my face refused to give, even with all of my Slytherin expertise.

"Well, what would you do if a someone threatened to render your bollocks useless?" Harry asks, a grin spreading over his face as well.

"Alright, I understand." I gave up the argument for his sake, not mine. Ah. This was what I wanted. This was beautiful. This was blissful. Sitting here and chatting with no expectations. Well, none from me anyway. I'm not quite sure I'll ever understand Potter's deranged state of mind.

With a sigh and an amused look, Potter looks up at me. He seems to want to say something to me. I lock eyes with him for a few minutes before finally speaking up.

"Yes, Harry?"

Silence.

Then,

"You're extremely sexy," in a barely audible voice.

I feel a blush creeping up my neck and I avert my eyes quickly.

"Th-Thank you, Harry," I stutter, barely able to form words as it is. I should have known he wouldn't have just settled for waiting. Then again, I wasn't too into waiting last night either. But that's not the point. He promised. I didn't. Hm.

"What exactly do you want to do to me Harry?" I ask in a sultry voice.

Alarm springs to his cheeks (his facial ones mind you). He needed to think only a moment before a thought slips past his barrier.

"I want to feel you," he whispers. "I want to caress you, to kiss you, to make you beg for me to fuck you. I want to feel you inside of me. I want to suck you off. I want to make this as much a physical relationship as it is an emotional one."

The descriptions cause something to spring to life within my pants. I take a shaky breath and continue with my plan.

"So, if I were to submit to you, fully and without complaint, you would enjoy it?" The question seems to make him a bit uncomfortable.

Finally, the Gryffindor courage shone through the barriers. "Yes, Sev. I believe I would enjoy that very much." As he inched forward, he added in a very sultry tone, "As would you."

My pants seem to instantly tighten around my groin area. I know Potter notices it by the smirk he so readily bears. To some degree, it is rather humiliating. It has been some time before I've submitted. It is time to relive the glory days. Potter is right. We need to take this to the next level.

Potter leans close and plants a kiss on my mouth, seductively licking my bottom lip, asking for entrance. I open willingly and allow him to dominate the kiss. He tears my robes of and throws the haphazardly across the room. My robes are soon joined by my shirt, my pants, my boxers, and Potter's clothes as well.



The realization suddenly hits me that this is farther than we've ever gone, physically. And for now, I do not feel the least bit pedophiliac. I do, however, feel extremely aroused as Harry presses his hard member to my own, sending a shock through my body.

He begins ravishing every exposed piece of flesh he can sink his teeth into. Biting here, bruising there, sucking, kissing, and licking everywhere else. I had forgotten how good it felt to submit. How good it could feel to lose yourself in someone else, to let your guard down.

Potter gets on his knees and brings my aching cock into his mouth. The feeling is almost enough to send me over the edge. But he seems to have other thoughts in mind as he begins to flick his tongue ever so lightly over the head of my prick. The sensation elicits a rather loud moan from the depths of my throat. My body begins to react on its own as my hips start bucking into Potter's mouth, trying to create the friction I so desperately crave. I feel Potter smirk as he removes his mouth from my throbbing member.

I, Severus Snape, whimper at the loss of feeling. This seems to cause Potter some degree of joy. Well, I guess causing your mate to whimper on your first go is a pretty big accomplishment.

Potter motions for me to walk over to where he is currently laying, stomach down, on my bed. I follow without hesitation.

"I want to feel you inside of me," he whispers. I motion for him to sit on my lap. With a slightly confused expression, Potter complies. Oh, does it feel good. I tackle him down, teasing his entrance with the tip of my cock. He begins bucking his hips toward me, desperate to have something fill him.

"Do you want me to stretch you first?" I offer, a little concerned about hurting him. He shakes his vigorously and I sigh. Alright Potter. But don't say I didn't warn you.

Without hesitation, I slam into him, causing him to shriek. I give him a few minutes to adjust, then continue my bombard of blows. I can feel myself close to releasing, and obviously, so can Potter. He rolls out from under me, disconnecting us. I turn to face him, draping my legs over the side of the bed. My very erect and wanting member is screaming for release. Potter spreads my legs apart and swallows my prick whole. The sensation felt spectacular. He began sucking in a way that I only held out against for a minute, at most before spurting my seed into his mouth. I try to remove myself but he seems intent on letting me ride out the orgasm. I don't complain.

A few minutes later, my pleasure is over, but it was well-lived and generously received. I do feel rather bad about being the only one to experience an orgasm on this night. I manage to lift Potter onto the bed and fall to the floor on my knees. I spread his legs apart and smirk at his questioning look.

Slowly, I wrap my lips around just the head, eliciting a groan and a thrust from Potter. I flick my tongue against the tip gracefully and can already taste the pre-cum. In one fluid motion, I take Potter's whole length into my mouth, which obviously surprised him. Nonetheless, his tugging at my hair and his constant moaning told me to continue. I allow my teeth to lightly graze the bottom of his prick as I blow lightly. I remove half of his length from my mouth and begin making tiny circles on its base while I flick my tongue over his threatening to burst tip. In a few seconds, Potter releases inside of me and I swallow hard. I continue sucking until there is nothing left to suck.

I quietly climb onto the bed with him where he promptly curls up in my arms and falls asleep.

Harry James Potter, I think I am in love with you.


	11. Drastic Battles

**A/N: Now that One Step Closer is finished and Concrete Angel is up, I shall proceed with Apologize. Yay! Though, in all honesty, I wasn't even sure where to take this until now. XD Hm. Be warned, sometime in the near future, (coughnextchaptercough) there will be a character death. I've warned you, so don't get mad at me for it. Well, here's Chapter Eleven! (:**

Drastic Battles

OoO

Potter had spent the night in my room, and as I awoke the next morning, I knew something was wrong. It hadn't happened yet, but I knew it would soon.

I stand and gently prod Potter until he awakes with a sigh. He grins up at me sleepily, and I feel myself smiling back. "Get dressed and go to your Common Room," I order him, leaving no room for questioning. He does as he's told, albeit half-asleep, and leaves my rooms.

I change as well and head to Dumbledore's office myself. Finally reaching his door, I enter without even a knock. He looks up at me, not surprised by my sudden intrusion.

"I have been informed there will be an attack at ten-fifteen," he tells me, worry filling his voice. I know the old man is paranoid about his precious fucking students, but the coming battle is a bit more important. At least, it is in my opinion anyway.

"There isn't time to ship the children home, and any mass movement would alert them to the leak, causing them to attack early," I tell him, a plan already formulating within my head. "Allow fifth years and older the option of fighting and send the rest to the Slytherin Common Room. They'll be safest there, as it is underground and less likely to be hit."

"Fifteen year olds? Severus, they won't even be able to form a proper shield charm," the old coot tells me, obviously frightened for the students. "We can't mindlessly risk students' lives."

"We aren't," I explain to him, feeling myself getting exasperated. "If they want to fight, we let them. If they don't, we don't force them. They'll just go hide out with the rest of the school. It's that simple."

He nods, though seemingly reluctantly and motions for me to leave. I take the hint and began my descent along the winding stairs, sighing outwardly, annoyance building quickly at the damned Dark Lord's continuous attempts at slaying Potter. It really was getting old. Maybe this time he'll finally fall over and die. Hm. That would be nice.

OoOoO

By ten o'clock, one hundred sixty-two fifth, sixth, and seventh years were assembled in the Great Hall with the rest of the staff while the rest of the school was in the dungeons, safely hidden from wandering Death Eaters.

"Listen, they could strike at any moment now," I tell everyone. "We took out the Elites in the first battle, and several Werewolves to boot. Fenrir still lives, however, and he likes killing children. Guard yourselves. If you are one-on-one with any werewolf, remember that they are very quick and extremely agile. Stunning them won't work. As hard as this is for many of you to understand, killing them is the only way to prevent them from killing another. Watch yourselves."

I step off the table and walk briskly toward Potter, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the Hall.

"Are the Giants in formation?" I finally ask after we are out of earshot.

"Yeah," he nods, smiling at me.

"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

"You look so cute when you're worried," he laughs.

I roll my eyes. "Listen," I tell him softly, "After this is all over, I promise you another night like last night's. Okay? But you have to promise me that you'll stay focused today. And remember that you're more important than I am. If I go down, leave me down. Don't stop to help until everyone on their side is dead. I don't care what Dumbledore tells you. Kill them all or there'll never be peace."

He nods again and we walk back into the Great Hall together. He stands upon a table and puts his wand to his throat, causing his voice to boom all around the Hall.

"Alright, soldiers," he starts, solemnity overtaking his appearance. "Today we will have one of the most difficult battles we've ever faced. And be warned, tonight there will probably be hordes of vampires bombarding the Castle. So if you make it through today, prepare for tonight. Just kill them all. This is war, and there is no time for mercy. If you let them live, they'll kill you without hesitation. And never panic. Once you do, you're done for. Good luck and may God be with you."

He steps down and smiles at me. I smile back, not knowing what else to do. Within minutes, everyone is in position. There are seventy people guarding various areas inside the Castle, while the rest of us are outside, guarding the perimeter. There are several on broom to attack those flying in. I expect dragons while others do not, and I have armed myself with enough spells to take the beasts down with a flick of my wand.

Within seconds, they attack. As I suspected, dragons fly in first to clear the way. I take several of them down, but miss the last few. The shrieks I hear tell me that someone had died on our side already. I kill the rest of the dragons quickly, to avoid more of our men dying for no reason.

Next come the ground troops. There are only fifty or so Death Eaters, but there are hundreds of werewolves. Fenrir was leading them all. I throw a killing curse at him and smirk as he sprawls to the ground, lifeless. The other werewolves realize we're here to fight, and they attack. I watch as several students are taken down, helpless. I can't help but laugh a little. The stupidity of the youth to defend rather than attack. It would have been tragic, had Potter not told them to just kill everyone.

Curses are flying by ears, though few are green. I roll my eyes at the stupidity of it all. One of the werewolves run up to me, growling incoherently. I laugh at it and kill it without a second thought.

"Oh, Severus," I turn around to see Yaxley, standing next to Goyle. They are holding Potter up by the arms. I can see the fear in his eyes, but I can sense the message he's sending. He wants me to let them capture him, to allow him to just be carried off so that others won't suffer. Of course I find that to be utterly stupid of him.

"Let him go," I tell them. They laugh at me, so I kill the both of them. Potter falls ungraciously to the ground and stands quickly. He brushes himself off and grabs his wand from Yaxley's pocket.

"Damn, Potter," I tell him. "Sex makes you useless. Move your arse, we're in a fucking war!"

He glares at me briefly before continuing the battle.

I smirk inwardly. Insulting them always works. Always.

I barely dodge a curse and it flies into the school, barricading the front entrance. We're damn lucky that's easy enough to fix.

I whip my head around and am almost paralyzed from shock to see who is standing before me. Voldemort. His snake-like eyes bear into me, and I feel me body clam up. I need to get Potter out of here. Now.

"Severus," he hisses, his voice spreading like venom through my veins. "Give me the boy."

I stay rooted to the spot and to my great horror, Potter turns around. He sends a killing curse flying at Voldemort immediately. Damn, I didn't know he had it in him.

Voldemort easily dodges it, and I cringe as I see Flitwick fall. He really was fun to drink with.

"At least you've grown some bollocks," Voldemort says to Potter. I look over at Potter and see him glaring at him. Two opponents ready to fight each other to the death. Unfortunately, I was not ready for Potter to die, and fate did not seem to be favoring him.

Potter throws another killing curse at Voldemort, just as Voldemort throws one at him. Their wands are trapped in a battle for dominance. I know that even if Potter kills Voldemort here, there are five other ways for him to return. The battle surrounding the two stops to marvel at the sight before them. I take this opportunity to silently kill off several of the werewolves. Nobody seems to take notice, so I continue until all are dead and the only remaining Dark Side Follower is currently in a duel with Potter.

I sigh, seeing as nothing has changed. There is still nobody winning. I wonder if anyone ever will, when I hear a bellowing voice from behind me.

"Tom," bellows Dumbledore. Voldemort takes his eyes off of Potter for less than a second. That's all it took for Potter's spell to win dominance and cause Voldemort to crumple lifelessly to the ground beneath him.

Everyone cheers. I of course, do not. Instead, I focus on the hatred in Potter's eyes. The burning fire that lurks there. Then, I shift my thoughts to how many people had to have been infected. It is inevitable. We were lucky once, but with all these children participating, someone had to have been infected. There is just no way around it. At all.

That is when I see her. Granger is stumbling toward the crowd, clutching the side of her throat, gasping for air. Oh lovely. Now we have a werewolf as a damn student. It is a full moon soon. I suppose that means I'll be brewing two batches of Wolfsbane? Joy.

I guess I should be a little more sympathetic to her injuries, but as it is, I am a very unsympathetic man. So I guess she's screwed. Oh well. I roll my eyes at the slow reflexes of everyone standing around. Obviously, they don't notice she's infected, or they don't care. Either way, it is up to me to save her life again, at the price of only my humanity. Yes, I do have humanity within me somewhere, so yes, it is at risk here.

Anyway, I rush forward and catch her just as she collapses. Finally, the idiots turn around and see me sprinting toward the Castle with the unconscious fifth year in my arms. I have to take the damn back way in. No, it is not a back door. Of course not, because that would make sense. And nonexistent Lord knows that our Headmaster hates making sense. No, instead, our 'back door' is a passageway that takes very precise wand tapping to open and several defensive spells to get through in one piece. After at least twenty minutes of lugging that unusually heavy child around, I finally make it to the inside of the Castle.

And, as luck would have it, I am located on the Seventh fucking floor. So now I get to run all the way down those numerous steps just to save her pathetic life. I should have just played dumb like every other moron out there. Maybe they were more intelligent than I had given them credit for. No. I doubt that.

It takes me ten minutes just to reach the bottom of the stairs. Even now, I still have to carry her through many a hallway before we reach that damned hospital. I can't risk levitating her and getting her blood everywhere. That could cause a whole mess of problems.

Finally, I reach the fucking room. I drop her ungracefully on the nearest bed, my arms aching. She was far from fat, but she certainly weighed a lot more than it seems.

I call for Poppy and she comes running. She gasps as soon as she sees her apprentice lying in the bed. Did I forget to mention that Granger was interested in becoming a healer? Well, she is, and she is studying under Poppy in order to do so. Though I cannot imagine why someone would want to waste their time trying to heal others, I will admit that Granger was rather good at it. It would be a shame to see her stop.

"What happened?" Poppy squeaks, obviously hiding tears. Nobody dared cry in front of me out of fear of being hexed, though that is a story for another time. As it is, there are more important things that need to be done and dealt with before I can go off ranting about the useless past.

"She was infected, most likely through being bitten," I explain tonelessly, glancing at Granger's barely live body again. She is rapidly losing blood, and in a few minutes she will be dead. Unfortunately, Poppy hurries to treat the wound, probably saving Granger's life. Pity. We could use with less useless students. Though I will admit she was bright, but she is rash. She always acts before thinking, probably the only thing that kept her out of Ravenclaw.

After a few minutes, I decide I am no longer needed, so I leave. I take a deep breath and stroll toward my quarters. I may as well crack open that new bottle of Vodka now. I will probably have to battle hordes of fucking vampires in a few hours anyway. I may as well be drunk off my arse while doing so. Hell, it couldn't hurt.

I remember the children locked away in the Slytherin Common Room and smirk. Leave them there. At least then we won't have to deal with moving them back when the second battalion of troops arrive. Granted, it was now an iffy thing, what with Voldemort's human form defeated. However, my gut tells me there will be vampires, and they will strike without warning.

Joy.

I finally reach my quarters and turn the knob on the door, only to find it locked. Damn those kids. I swear they will be the fucking death of me one of these days. Sighing, I mutter a quick spell and am relieved to hear the lock click open. I carefully push on the door, not knowing what to expect once I get inside. What I see is pretty shocking, even after everything I've been through recently.

On my couch, MY DAMN COUCH, are two students, engaging in, certain distasteful activities. From what I can see, it is one of my own house, the boy, and a Ravenclaw, the girl. I decide to embarrass the shit out of them. Use my couch for their own fuck place, will they? Damn kids.

"So Mr. Zabini, enjoying the ride?" I drawl, crossing my arms in front of my chest and leaning against the doorframe.

I hear I gasp (I am guessing from the girl, but I am not ruling Zabini out) and I see the two scramble to cover up with something. I roll my eyes at their immaturity. As if I am looking at them. Please. I have a damn boyfriend already. Besides, Zabini's too small for my liking, and I am not particularly attracted to vaginas.

"Uh, sir, we, um, we were just," he tries to explain quickly. Certainly they were prepared for this. I mean, what kind of a Slytherin would you be if you were having sex in a teacher's private quarters, ON HIS FAVORITE FUCKING COUCH, and DIDN'T expect to get caught? Was I raising children of that amount of stupidity? Oh nonexistent deities, please save me.

"It was quite obvious what you were just doing, Mr. Zabini. Now would you care to explain why exactly you thought it appropriate to use my couch as your fuck place?" I am honestly pretty pissed off. If I had caught them on the floor, or hell, in my BED, it wouldn't have been as bad as them fucking on my couch.

Zabini looked astounded at my vulgarity. I am not sure as to how the girl looked, seeing as I could not really see her. She had taken to hiding her face behind her hands, as if too embarrassed to look at me. I guess she's never had a threesome.

"Sir, we just thought, that since you weren't here and everything, and our Common Room was so crowded, that here would be the closest alternative. But sir, I implore you to leave her out of this. It's my fault, not hers. She didn't even want to be here, really." He is drabbling now.

I roll my eyes in annoyance. "Am I being led to believe I have just stopped an act of rape, Mr. Zabini?" I ask, actually hoping he would blush. I loved embarrassing students. They are so easy to fuck with as it is, and it is even easier when you catch them doing something they know they should not be doing.

"No, sir!" Zabini exclaims, turning bright red. "What I meant to say sir, is that I talked her into it. It was my idea to do it here, not hers. So please, don't punish her."

I know I know who that girl is. Those blonde curls cascading down her pale back. That creamy skin. Oh wow. There is no way. There is absolutely no possible way a Slytherin would ever fuck her. She's so, so, weird. The two ideas just don't mix.

I decide not to confront Ms. Lovegood about this obviously humiliating experience, and instead return my gaze to Zabini. "Fine, Mr. Zabini. But I expect you to buy me an exact replica of that couch, without magic, and I expect you here every night for the next two weeks starting tomorrow for detention. In the event that I am somehow made deceased, you still have to replace the couch. And you will serve your detentions with Professor McGonagall instead. Have I made myself clear?"

He nods furiously.

"Then get the hell out of my Living Room," I tell them, motioning for them to leave. He grabs her by the arm and they leave quickly, shutting the door behind them.

If there is a damn God of some sort, I have only one question for you:

Why the couch?


End file.
